The third message showed up while I was standing in a dark hallway. I was freaking out.
It said, He doesn't see you 'cause he never deserved you.
Whoa. My fingers froze. My heart? Thumping like crazy.
I typed back, all shaky: Who is this?
It said: Read.
And then... nothing. No reply.
I stood there in my robe, chest heaving. I didn't even know if this was hope or if I was just losing my mind. I almost woke Daniel up and shoved the phone in his face. But he'd just roll his eyes and call me dramatic.
So instead, I hugged the phone and slid down the wall, knees pulled to my chest.
The next morning, Daniel barely looked at me while getting ready for work. I was watching him—fancy suit, perfect shave, like life was a breeze.
"You didn't even say good morning," I said.
He didn't look at me.
"You seemed pretty busy on your phone last night," he replied.
I blinked. "What's the meaning of that?"
"You were texting someone at 3 a.m."
He sounded calm. Too calm. Just cold, you know? Not jealous. Not angry. Just stating a fact—like he didn't care.
And that hurt. I wanted him to say something. To care a little. But he didn't.
After Daniel left, I checked the messages again. Still nothing. But the lines were stuck in my head:
I see you.
You don't deserve to be invisible.
He doesn't deserve you.
I can't lie—those messages made me feel something. Like I was wanted. Like someone was watching. Like I was alive.
It was a little scary.
Later, I stood in front of my closet, staring at myself. I hadn't worn my red dress in ages. It fits great, you know? Low in the back—meant to make someone stare. Not Daniel, though.
But maybe someone else would.
I didn't know what I wanted. I just knew I couldn't keep fading away.
I put on perfume, lip gloss, and let my hair down. I needed to remember what it felt like—to be seen.
I walked into the downtown café. My therapist was late. Or maybe I was early. I slid into a booth, heart racing. But it wasn't about therapy.
That's when I saw him.
Guy in the corner. Black shirt, sleeve rolled up, coffee in hand, messing with his phone.
He looked up. Our eyes met. I gasped.
Could it be him? The one texting me?
Nah. Crazy.
But the way he looked at me… like he knew me, like he could see right through me—I swear I forgot how to breathe.
He nodded. Quick. I was shaking.
Those eyes… reminded me of someone. Caleb? No, he was just a kid when I married Daniel.
But this guy… he made me feel something deeper. Something old. Something I forgot I had.
"Sorry I'm late," my therapist said, sliding into the booth.
I barely noticed her. My eyes kept darting back to that corner.
But suddenly—he was gone. Vanished.
"What's up with you today?" my therapist asked, tilting her head.
"I think I'm losing it," I whispered.
She smiled. "Or maybe you're waking up."
Whoa. Those words hit hard.
I really wanted it to be true.
That night, Daniel didn't come home. No text. No call.
I paced. I was losing my mind.
At 11:47 p.m., another message popped up:
He's with her again. Blonde. Corner booth. Same hotel as usual.
I dropped my phone. No way.
This wasn't just me being all crazypants. He was cheating.
I couldn't breathe.
I didn't cry. I got dressed. Black jeans. Leather jacket. No bra. No makeup. Just pure rage.
I drove to the hotel. Parked across the street. My hands gripped the wheel.
I spotted him.
Daniel.
Walking out with her.
Tall. Blonde. Laughing.
Touching her back like he used to touch me.
That was it. Something snapped.
I drove home.
I grabbed all the wine. Drank glass after glass. Bottle after bottle. Blur.
Then I picked up my phone.
Texted that stranger: Who are you?
He replied fast.
Someone who would never ignore how beautiful you are.
Then another text.
Open the door.
Oh man, my heart was pounding.
Open the door?
I froze.
Another message.
I'm already here.
That stranger's message messed with my head all night.
By morning, I didn't know if I was scared—or if I wanted something.
The day flew by. That evening, I stood in my closet, slipping into the tightest dress I had. Red satin. Low-cut, you know?
Not for Daniel. For the me who wanted to be seen. Who craved something exciting.
I poured some wine.
And waited.
Around midnight, the front door creaked open.
Daniel stumbled in. Tie loose. Smelling like whiskey and some cologne I didn't recognize.
"You're drunk," I said, not holding back.
He shrugged, not even looking at me. "Work dinner."
"With perfume on your collar?"
He was silent.
I was done.
"Do you even care that you're hurting me?"
"I'm tired, Sophia," he said.
I laughed—but not the nice kind. "No, you're not tired. You were with someone else."
He swayed, ran a hand over his face. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?"
I stepped closer. "Then what's this lipstick doing here?"
He clenched his jaw. Didn't say one thing.
My heart didn't just break—it shattered.
I slept in the guest room. Or tried to.
I thought about all the years we'd spent. The house. The rings. The promises.
Didn't mean a thing now.
At 2:07 a.m., I looked at that unknown number.
Texted: Who are you?
Instant reply:
Someone who sees your pain. Someone who won't ignore you like he does.
It chilled me.
What do you want from me? I asked.
His response made my heart jump.
To make you feel alive again.
I should've blocked him.
But I didn't.
Instead, I whispered, "I don't want to be good anymore."
I pictured someone holding me. A voice that said the things Daniel never did.
A stranger who saw me—and would touch me.
The next evening, Daniel got home early. He looked at me.
"You're going out?" he asked, eyeing my heels and makeup.
"Yeah."
"With who?"
I tilted my head. "Why do you care?"
"I'm your husband."
I let that sink in.
"Then act like it."
He looked at me like he knew something was up. Like he could smell another man on me. But he didn't say a word. He never had the guts to.
As I turned, he grabbed my arm. "Don't screw up, Sophia."
I looked him dead in the eye. C
old. Possessive.
"Oh, honey," I whispered, lips near his ear.
"I screwed up the day I married you."
Then I left.
The night air felt great.
My phone buzzed.
The stranger: I'm watching you.
I kept walking.