My Jake welcomed a woman at our door. No ordinary woman—she laughed as she offered him drink. Heart plummeted. I kept scrolling. A woman with a stack of movies appears again.
It seems Jake had company whenever I was away. His camera, ironically for our safety, recorded each visit to different women.
Sitting transfixed, the iPad fell to my lap. My thoughts raced. How could he? When did our relationship become a sham? My vision was obscured by tears, and each camera clip hurt. Was all my trust and love for him one-sided? Was I alone?
Each woman’s giggle and bottle of wine made the place feel smaller and walled in. I adored this space, our shared life, but each room screamed treachery.
Reality sank like lead in my stomach, making me queasy and lumpy. This wasn’t a typo or misunderstanding. Betrayal was intentional and persistent. My nails pierced my palms as I made fists.
Rage and sadness heated my tears as they fell. I had to face him for explanations. I had to calm down and regain my dignity first. I wouldn’t allow him see me broken.
I have to be strong for myself. Cold, icy wrath replaced the love I believed we shared. Jake had to communicate something important, and I wanted to understand.
Jake found the flat quiet and the tension thick as fog. I sat at the kitchen table, replaying door camera footage. Ignoring my storm, he smiled his customary casually.
“Hi Em. Miss you, he said, hanging his coat.
I didn’t smile back. “We need to talk.”
A smile fell from Jake. “What’s wrong?”
The tablet paused on a frame of him with one of the women. “Care to explain this?”
Jake looked at the screen and shrugged leisurely. Emily, you’re overreacting. Just pals.”
“Friends?” I snapped. Every time I leave, different women? Really, Jake?”
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