### My boyfriend told me his company was putting him through a week-long, off-grid leadership retreat in the mountains. No phones allowed. His retreat was supposed to end tomorrow. I decided to head over to his apartment tonight to give him a surprise. But when I arrived, I realized someone was already inside. He had always told me he lived alone. The next second, a girl’s giggling voice drifted through the door. “Stop it, Ethan! Let me see your phone.” My hand froze in mid-air. Then came his voice, laced with laughter. “No way. Besides, I didn’t even get your good side in that picture.” My entire body went rigid. I pulled out my phone and dialed his number. He picked up, his tone smooth and affectionate. “Hey, babe. What’s up?” “I’m standing right outside your door,” I said. “Open up.” Inside the apartment, there was instant, dead silence. I hung up the phone. I reached into my bag and pulled out my key. He had given me this key two years ago. Back then, he had said, “Keep it. Come over whenever you want. This place is going to be yours sooner or later anyway.” But I had never used it without telling him first. I slotted the key into the lock, turned it, and heard a sharp *click*. The door swung open. The hallway light was on. Next to the shoe rack lay his sneakers—and a pair of women’s heels I’d never seen before. I didn’t step further inside. I just stood in the entryway. From the living room came a frantic rustling of clothes and hushed, panicked whispers. I took two steps forward. A lilac dress, made of very little fabric, was tossed carelessly next to the couch. A single lace sock lay on the floor nearby. On the coffee table sat two wine glasses and a half-empty bottle of Cabernet. And then, I saw them. Ethan was scrambling up from the couch, frantically pulling up his pants. His button-down shirt was misaligned, and his hair was a messy nest. The girl was cowering behind him, a fresh red mark visible on her shoulder. I stopped right in the middle of the living room. A cold thought popped into my head: *It was a good thing I called first.* If I had just walked in, what would I have seen? Could it possibly have been more disgusting than this? “Norah.” He finally spoke, his voice tight. “What are you…” “Wasn’t your retreat supposed to end tomorrow?” I cut him off. He froze. He had finally managed to zip his pants, but his shirt was still a wrinkled mess. He looked down at himself, then looked back up at me. The expression on his face was hard to describe—like a thief caught red-handed, desperately trying to play it cool. “I… I got back early,” he stammered. “Oh,” I nodded. “Got back early to continue your ‘training’?” He shut his mouth. The girl stepped out from behind him. Her head was lowered as she frantically grabbed her lilac dress and shoved her arms through the sleeves. She looked young, with dyed light brown hair and a flush on her cheeks from the alcohol. Her hands were shaking so violently she couldn’t get the zipper up. I stared at her. She peeked up at me, then quickly averted her eyes. “And who is she?” I asked. Ethan opened his mouth, but only a few mumbled syllables came out. He went quiet again. He stood there, fidgeting with his hands, before finally clenching them into fists at his sides. The silence in the living room was suffocating. The girl finally got her dress on, slipped into her white heels, and made a sharp tapping sound against the hardwood floor. She glanced at him, then at me, and then rushed into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind her. *Bang.* I stared at the closed door, then turned my gaze back to him. “Talk to me,” I said. “Norah, I…” He took a step toward me, then paused. “I messed up. I’m sorry.” “I asked you who she is.” “Just a friend.” “A friend?” He lowered his head, refusing to meet my eyes. I let out a dry laugh. I didn’t know if I was laughing at him or at myself. Eight years. I had known him for eight years, and we had been together for all of them. From high school to college, and now into our professional careers. I thought I knew him inside out. But I had never seen him look like this. “It won’t happen again,” he said suddenly, looking at me with begging eyes. “Seriously, Norah. It was a one-time thing.” I said nothing. Suddenly, he turned around and began frantically rummaging through the living room. He tore open the drawer under the coffee table, checked the TV stand, and lifted the couch cushions. I watched him, having no idea what he was doing. A moment later, he pulled out a small red box. He walked over and pressed it into my hand. “I bought this for you,” he said, his voice dropping low. “I was going to give it to you in a couple of days.” I looked down at the box. It was a jewelry box with a designer logo printed on it. I opened it. Inside was a silver necklace with a tiny star pendant. It was beautiful. I held the box, staring at it for a few seconds. Then, I walked over to the trash can and tossed the necklace, box and all, right into the garbage. “Norah!” he gasped. “I don’t want your trash,” I said. I turned to face him. The expressions on his face shifted rapidly. He looked like he wanted to yell, but couldn’t find the words. Under the harsh ceiling light, his face looked completely foreign to me for the first time. “We’ve been together for eight years,” I said, my voice steady but cold. “And this is how you treat me?” He hung his head, silent. “Eight years, Ethan.” I repeated it. “Eight years. From junior year of high school until now. I moved to this city for you. I brought you dinner at your office when you worked late. I took sick days to care for you when you were ill. When your mom was hospitalized, I was the one pulling overnight shifts bedside so you could sleep. I thought we were waiting to get married—waiting until we saved enough, waiting until we bought a place, waiting for things to settle down. What exactly were you waiting for?” ###
He still didn’t say a word. “Were you waiting for her?” “No!” He snapped his head up, his voice frantic. “It’s not what you think, Norah. I swear, it was just a stupid mistake. I had too much to drink…” “Too much to drink?” “Yeah. We just had some wine…” The bedroom door clicked open. The girl walked out. Her heels tapped sharply against the floor. She had changed into a white button-down shirt and jeans, and her hair was tied back in a neat ponytail. She looked much more presentable than she had moments ago. Except for the mark on her neck. A hickey. It was fresh, a deep purple-red bruise sitting right above her collarbone. She walked over to Ethan’s side and stood tall, looking at me. Her gaze was different now. Before, she had been too embarrassed to look at me, but now she stared straight at me, her chin tilted up defiantly. “I love him,” she said. I stared at her. “I love him more than you do,” she repeated, her voice soft but clear. “We’re in love.” “Shut up!” Ethan spun around, glaring at her. “Stop talking!” She flinched, then quickly wrapped her arms around his elbow, looking up at him. “That’s not what you said earlier. You said you were going to marry me.” Ethan violently yanked his arm back and took a step away from her. She was left standing there, her arms still in the air, her face freezing in shock. I looked at her, then back at him. Ethan avoided my gaze, staring intently at the floorboards, his fingers nervously twitching against his pants. She stood there, biting her lip, her eyes turning red. “Do you even know who he is?” I asked her. “Do you know he has a girlfriend of eight years?” “Yes, I know,” she said, lifting her chin. I blinked, momentarily stunned. “He told me. He said you guys had been together for a long time.” She paused, glancing at him. He kept his head down. “But he said the spark died years ago.” She rushed on, her voice growing more confident. “He said you suffocate him. You control everything he does. He has to report every single detail of his day, and he can barely breathe. He said being with me makes him feel free. He can actually be himself.” I stood perfectly still. So, asking him how his day was meant I was suffocating him. Waiting up for him to have dinner together meant he had to report to me. Caring about whether he was exhausted from working overtime was making him unable to breathe. I had spent years thinking I was loving him. To him, it was just a chore. “He said you’re too high-maintenance,” she added, a hint of smugness in her tone. “Always telling him to stop eating fast food, telling him to go to bed early, nagging him when he doesn’t text back fast enough. He said he couldn’t take it anymore.” I looked at Ethan. He was still staring at the floor, refusing to look at either of us. “Is that true?” I asked him. His lips parted, but no sound came out. “Ethan,” I called his name. He finally looked up, meeting my eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away again. That split second was all I needed. It was true. Every single word she said was true. An overwhelming, bone-deep exhaustion washed over me. My legs felt like jelly, but I forced myself to stand straight. I couldn’t break down in front of them. I took a deep breath. “Fine. We’re done.” ###
He whipped his head up, staring at me. “Norah—” “Don’t say my name.” I cut him off, reaching into my pocket and tapping my phone screen. “Everything you guys just said? I recorded all of it.” He froze. The girl froze, too. “Including your little speech,” I said, looking directly at her. “You knew he had a girlfriend, and you still slept with him. And you,” I looked back at Ethan, “cheated while knowing exactly what you were doing. It’s all on tape.” Her face drained of color. “You recorded us? Since when?” I didn’t answer. I just slipped the phone back into my pocket and turned toward the door. “Stop!” she shrieked behind me. “Delete that recording right now!” I didn’t stop. I kept walking. “Ethan!” she screamed. “Make her delete it! You can’t let her leave with that! What is she going to do with it? What if she sends it to my family?” I heard a frantic scramble behind me, followed by rushing footsteps. Before I could reach the door, she caught up and grabbed my arm. Her hand was ice-cold, her nails digging into my skin. “Give me the phone!” she screamed. I violently shook her off and stepped back. She lunged at me again, reaching for my pocket. I held my phone high above my head. She was too short to reach it. She hopped up, her nails scratching across the back of my hand, leaving a burning red line. “Ethan!” she screamed again. “Are you just going to stand there?!” I gave her a hard shove. She lost her balance, her high heels wobbled, and she fell hard onto her butt. She let out a sharp cry, sitting on the floor and looking up at me, her eyes overflowing with tears of pure victimization. Ethan rushed over and knelt beside her. “Are you okay?” He held her by the shoulders, checking her over. “Did you hurt yourself?” She leaned into his chest, shaking her head as tears streamed down her face. I stood there, watching the pathetic display. Suddenly, Ethan looked up at me, his face darkening. “Norah. Why did you have to push her?” I didn’t say a word. He helped her to her feet. She clung to him, whimpering that she was fine, that it was all her fault. The more she played the victim, the tighter he held her. “Just delete the recording,” Ethan said, his voice hardening. “I was the one who messed up. But you put your hands on her, and that’s not okay.” I looked at him, suddenly wanting to laugh. But I couldn’t. “Delete it?” I asked. “Yes,” he said. He paused, then added, “I’ll pay you. Just delete the recording.” “How much?” He blinked, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. He thought for a moment. “$3,000.” I stared at him. Eight years. The most expensive gift he had ever bought me was that $180 necklace. Back then, he had told me, “When I make more money, I’ll buy you nice things. For now, let’s save every penny for our wedding.” Our wedding. The word sounded like a sick joke now. And now, for a single voice recording, he was offering me $3,000. ###
“$3,000?” I asked. “Not enough?” He frowned. “Then name your price.” I looked at the girl. She was leaning against him, her crying stopped. She was staring at me with a mix of anxiety and quiet anticipation. “No way. I’m not deleting it.” Ethan’s face twisted in anger. “Norah, don’t push your luck.” “I’m trying to resolve this nicely. Don’t be a bitch.” “A bitch?” I repeated the word, turning back toward the door. “Ethan!” the girl panicked. “You can’t let her leave! What if she leaks the audio? My parents will find out! My dad will literally kill me! You said you would protect me!” Ethan stood there, his expression flitting between rage and panic. My hand was already on the doorknob. “Wait,” he called out. I didn’t turn around. “Norah, please.” His voice suddenly cracked, turning soft and desperate. “Please delete it. This is all my fault, not hers. She’s young, she didn’t know any better. I was the one who couldn’t control myself. Blame me, hate me, but leave her out of this.” I slowly turned around. They were standing there, holding hands. “She didn’t know any better?” “She seemed pretty mature just a minute ago. She knew you had a girlfriend and still claimed you guys were in ‘true love.’” He choked on his words. The girl lowered her head, staying silent. “She doesn’t know better, but you do,” I said, staring at him. “You knew better, and you still cheated?” He looked down at the floor, unable to face me. “Ethan,” the girl whispered, tugging at his sleeve. “Make her delete it… please, what am I going to do?” He looked up at me, his eyes suddenly turning cold and predatory. “Norah,” he said, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Delete the recording. If you don’t, I’ll have to take it from you.” I didn’t move. He took a step forward. I reached into my pocket, keeping my hand firmly on my phone. “Take it?” I laughed. “Go ahead. It won’t do you any good.” He stopped. “I just set up a scheduled blast on Snapchat.” “In exactly two hours, if I don’t log in and cancel it, the recording will automatically be sent to everyone on my contact list.” His face drained of color. So did hers. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “Are you out of your mind?!” I kept quiet. He stood there, his lips trembling, unable to make a sound. The girl gripped his arm so tightly her nails must have dug into his skin, but he didn’t even flinch. The living room fell into a heavy silence for a few seconds. “$15,000,” he said suddenly. I looked at him. “$15,000,” he repeated, his voice rushed and desperate. “You delete the recording, and I will transfer you $15,000 right now.” I still didn’t say anything. “I don’t have that much in cash, but I can pull it together.” He was practically hyperventilating. “I have $12,000 in my savings. I’ll borrow $3,000 from a friend and get it to you today. You delete the recording, and we call it even. Deal?” The girl tugged at his sleeve, looking slightly disapproving of the amount, but she kept her mouth shut. “Fifteen thousand. Transfer it now.” He gasped, then quickly pulled out his phone, his fingers flying across the screen. I pulled out my phone and pulled up my Venmo code. His hands were shaking so badly he had to scan it three times before it went through. When he went to type in the amount, his fingers kept slipping. Finally, he looked up at me. “Sent,” he said. “Check it.” I looked down at my phone. A notification popped up: *Ethan Brooks sent you $15,000.* “Now,” I said, “write me a statement.” “What kind of statement?” “A written confession. State clearly that this $15,000 is a voluntary separation settlement. Write down our relationship timeline, and admit to your infidelity. Sign it, and seal it with your thumbprint.”
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