You weren’t even trying to look.
His phone lit up while he was in the shower—screen up, passcode off, dumb habit you never thought twice about.
Until you saw the name.
Until you saw the hearts.
Until your thumb moved before your brain could stop it.
The messages weren’t even that hidden. “last night was perfect.” “wish you were here instead.” “I’ll see you tomorrow?.”
You didn’t cry. Not yet.
Just sat on the edge of the bed, phone still in your hand, towel still on the floor where he left it, wondering if this was a nightmare or a punchline or both.
He came out humming.
Stopped when he saw your face.
“…What’s wrong?”
You didn’t say anything. Just turned the phone toward him. Showed him the proof.
The silence was louder than the water still dripping from his hair.
“Babe, I—”
“No,” you cut in. Voice sharp. Cold. Final. “Don’t.”
His mouth opened again.
You stood up.
“Just tell me one thing,” you said, staring at him like you’d never seen him before. “Did you ever actually love me, or was I just convenient?”
He opened his mouth like he wanted to say something—then closed it again.
Silence stretched between you, heavy and uncertain.
Maybe he had an answer. Maybe he didn’t.
But whatever it was, it didn’t erase the cracks—just left you wondering if they could ever be fixed.