She Took My Money, Then Slapped Me

On Valentine’s Day, I prepared a gift and went to my girlfriend’s office to wait for her, only to see her walking out of the building with another man, chatting and laughing. They got into the same car, and she naturally took the passenger seat.

I quietly followed and called her number.

“Are you off work?” I asked, pretending to be calm.

“Working late, I’ll be home later.”

The busy tone that followed made my heart sink into a dark abyss.

Half an hour later, she and the man walked side by side into a romantic-themed restaurant.

She was seated by the window; I took a few photos and waited in silence.

With the photos in hand, I wanted to hear her explanation.

...

At 10 p.m., she and Ryan Foster walked out of the restaurant and got into the same car again.

I followed, conflicted. If they went to a hotel next, what would I do?

Catch them in bed?

But as just a boyfriend, would catching them like that even matter?

I trailed them as their car stopped outside the apartment complex where she and I rented a place together.

The two got out. Ryan reached to fix her hair, and when he seemed about to take things further, she stepped back slightly.

Under the streetlamp, from my not-so-distant vantage point, I could see she wasn’t resisting—if anything, it was calculated coyness.

She was smiling as she spoke, radiating the same flirtatious charm she’d once used to reel me in when we first met. Only now, it made me sick.

I watched Ryan blow her a kiss, and she waved with a bright smile before walking into the complex.

Slamming my foot on the gas, I drove the car I’d planned to surprise her with straight into the complex. The car drew Ryan’s attention—and hers.

It was the kind of car that turned heads, something anyone would envy.

I got home ahead of her and waited in silence.

When the door opened, I stared at Emily Carter. “Go shower; the water’s ready.”

She gave me a sidelong glance. “I’m tired. I’ll just sleep. You should too.”

Gone was the coquettish smile she’d given Ryan. Facing me, she was all impatience.

“Had your fill outside?”

“Grabbed a quick bite after working late.”

“I meant in that other way,” I said, my tone turning cold.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Emily glared. “I work hard all day, and you suspect me?”

I silently unlocked my phone, found the photos, and set it on the coffee table.

She glanced at the screen, her expression turning even colder. “You followed me? Are you even a man?”

“You’re already suspicious of me before we’re even married. Maybe we should just break up.”

She turned and went into the bedroom.

Bang—the door slammed shut. She didn’t even bother to explain.

A knot of anger and resentment swelled in my chest. I pushed the door open. “You’re not going to explain?”

“Explain what—having dinner? You’re making a fuss over nothing. You followed me, so you know I didn’t do anything.”

True, she hadn’t crossed the final line, but what she had done left a bitter weight in my chest.

“That man you had dinner with—that was Ryan Foster, right?”

“Yeah, it was him.”

“On February 14th, he sent you flowers and you accepted them. You told me then it was just your boss showing concern for a subordinate. I made it clear I wasn’t okay with you accepting flowers from another man, and you promised it wouldn’t happen again.

“Three months ago, you stayed out all night, saying Ryan’s kid had a fever and, since he’s divorced, he needed a woman’s help. You said it was just sympathy and promised to let me know next time.”