The night began quietly—Benjamin away on another “business trip,” Alice at her grandmother’s, the apartment peaceful. I planned a relaxing evening, but a slow drip from the bathroom pipe shattered the calm. The leak worsened, and despite my efforts to fix it, water pooled on the floor. I called Benjamin, but he didn’t answer.
I messaged the building chat, and Jake, a neighbor, came to help. He fixed the leak quickly, easing my panic. The next morning, I found his pliers left behind and took them to his apartment to say thanks. But the door opened—and there was Benjamin. Not just Benjamin, but Benjamin and Jake, together. Bare-chested. The unmade bed. Two glasses. The unmistakable scent of betrayal.
“How long?” I asked, my voice shaking with fury. Benjamin stammered; Jake looked guilty. I snapped photos, my trust shattered. I left, called my lawyer, and filed for divorce.
The next day, I shared the photos in the building chat. Benjamin begged me to remove them. I said no.
That silence after hanging up wasn’t empty—it was freedom. For Alice and me, a future beyond lies, painful but ours to claim.
