October arrived, and we were nearing the end of our second year together. The meetups, the adventures, the laughter, the lies—my reckless heart running toward you, sleeping by your side. Those were beautiful days with you. (Do you still miss them now, my love, Chris?)
One Saturday, I left work early to surprise you. While I was on the way, I sent you a message: "Surprise! I'm coming. I missed you so much." You replied in your usual calm tone, saying you were at work and that I should wait at home.
When I arrived, your roommate opened the door. We greeted briefly, and I went straight to your room. It felt like my second home. I lay on the bed, waiting for you to come back.
An hour passed. I got bored and opened the laptop on the desk, looking for some music or entertainment. The laptop had no password. It opened instantly—and there it was: the panel of the social media platform where we had first connected. It was already open in the browser.
I hesitated for a moment.
Should I look? Should I not?
And then I did.
Messages with three or four different women.
Flirtatious words.
Talks of meeting up in other cities.
Promises of maybe relocating.
Sweet nothings.
It wasn't new—it went back nearly a year.
My blood boiled. I felt the heat rising in my neck. But I kept reading. Every page. Every name. Every lie.
How could you do this to me, my love—Chris?
Why?