I Investigated My Ex for Billion-Dollar Tax Fraud

To retrieve a certain file, I dug out my old phone.

Oddly enough, despite neglecting this number for over a year, it still had credit left. I opened the text messages and found almost a thousand waiting. Most were from an unknown number, but as I skimmed through, I quickly realized they were all from Amias.

Initially, his messages were cold and mocking, saying that if I ever needed him, he'd just ignore me.

After about a month, his tone softened, suggesting that if I came back, he'd forgive me.

Two months later, his messages turned anxious, repeatedly asking if something had happened to me.

The most recent one, sent three days ago, contained just four words: "I wish I hadn’t."

After reading a few, I stopped. Once I found the file I was looking for, I shut off the phone and tossed it aside.

Understanding Amias is like trying to solve a puzzle with missing pieces. And honestly, I have no desire to figure him out.

I mulled over those messages while sipping my coffee, the aroma grounding me. Outside, the leaves were turning vibrant shades of orange and gold, hinting that Thanksgiving was around the corner. I thought about the holiday, wondering if the warmth of family gatherings would drown out the echoes of Amias's words.

My outfit matched the season—a simple dress with a touch of Victorian flair, yet modern. As I got ready to meet friends for dinner, the thought of pulled pork and spiced honey cake filled my mind, bringing comfort.

For a brief moment, I considered messaging Amias on WhatsApp, but quickly brushed off the idea. The Alps were calling, and I decided a hike would be perfect—far away from his perplexing messages and memories.