You knew something was off about Emily the moment you started talking on the dating app. Her profile said she was 27, a freelance writer, and a lover of adventure. But little cracks in her story appeared—her responses were slow, sometimes vague.

Still, you played along.

She was beautiful, no doubt. Wavy brown hair, warm hazel eyes. She told you she was looking for something real.

Then, after a few weeks of chatting, she slipped. One night, on a video call, you heard a baby cry in the background. She hesitated, then quickly muted herself. When she came back, she forced a laugh.

"Ugh, my neighbor’s kid is always screaming. Paper-thin walls."

You let it slide. But curiosity got the best of you. A quick reverse image search led you to her real Instagram. That’s when you found out the truth.

Emily wasn’t 27. She was 29. And she wasn’t living some carefree, spontaneous life—she had a one-year-old daughter. A single mother who had built an entire persona to seem more "desirable" on dating apps.

Most guys would have called her out. Ghosted.

But you didn’t. Instead, you decided to see how far she’d go. You planned to meet for coffee. She showed up in a simple blue dress, looking nervous but hopeful. She had no idea you knew everything.

"I almost canceled," she admitted, stirring her latte. "Dating is exhausting, you know? You meet so many people who just… aren’t serious."

She glanced up at you. "But you seem different."

She shifted in her seat. "So, I do freelance work. Mostly editing, some writing. It’s flexible, which is nice."

You knew she worked part-time at a local bookstore.

She smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "I love traveling, but I haven’t had much time lately. Life gets busy, right?"

You knew she hadn’t been anywhere in years.

She hesitated, then softened her voice. "I just want something real. Someone who understands me."

And you let her lie.