I went to check on my boyfriend, worried he was too sick to even text me back. But what I found shattered my trust and sent my world spinning. Days later, the last person I ever expected showed up at my door, and together, we started something that changed my life forever.
One chilly autumn day, I was sitting alone in my small, cozy apartment. The sunlight peeked through the curtains but didn’t seem to do much to warm the air. I was staring at my phone, waiting for a message or call from Jace, my boyfriend. He hadn’t visited in days, saying he was just tired, but something about his excuses didn’t sit right with me.
I nervously fiddled with the hem of my sweater, tapping my foot against the wooden floor, each second dragging on longer than the last. The silence felt heavy. Finally, I couldn’t stand it any longer. I picked up my phone and dialed his number.
The phone rang a few times before Jace’s groggy voice answered, “Hello?”
“Are you sleeping?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. My stomach was already doing flips.
“Yeah,” he mumbled. “Sorry I didn’t text you. I just fell asleep. I’m not feeling great… might have a fever or something.”
I could hear a cough through the phone, harsh and rattling. “Oh…” I said softly, not sure what to say.
He sounded so weak. “Look, I’ll text you later,” he added, sounding rushed, and then coughed again. “Sorry.”
Before I could finish my sentence—“Feel better”—the line went dead. My heart sank.
Frustration bubbled up inside me. If Jace was really sick, I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. I was his girlfriend, after all. I should be there to take care of him, whether he liked it or not.
With a sigh, I grabbed my coat and headed out into the crisp autumn air, determined to check on him. The walk to the store was brisk, the kind of cold that makes your cheeks tingle, but I barely noticed it. I was too focused on what was going on with Jace.
In the store, I picked up fresh fruit, tea, and a box of throat lozenges, imagining how grateful he would be when I showed up with everything he needed.
Back at his building, I hit the elevator button, adjusting the weight of the heavy bag on my arm. Usually, I would take the stairs, but not today.
As the elevator hummed softly, I tried to distract myself, humming along to a song stuck in my head. But when the doors slid open, my heart stopped cold.
There he was—Jace—standing in the hallway, holding another woman in his arms. She was pressed so close to him that it made my stomach churn. This wasn’t just a hug. It was something else, something more intimate.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Looks like you’re feeling better,” I said, my voice louder than I intended, cutting through the quiet hallway like a knife.
Jace’s head whipped toward me, and his face drained of color. “Kate…” he stammered, his arms falling away from the woman, but he didn’t move toward me. He reached out like that would somehow fix everything.
“I can explain,” he said, his voice shaky.
I raised my hand, cutting him off. “Don’t. Just don’t. If you take one more step or say one more word, I swear I’ll make you regret it.”
In that instant, my anger flared. I threw the grocery bag at him, and the fruit spilled across the floor with a loud thud.
Without waiting for his reaction, I spun around and stormed out, my heart pounding with a mix of anger, disbelief, and pure heartbreak. He didn’t call after me. Didn’t chase after me. And for that, I was strangely glad. He wasn’t worth it. Not anymore.
A few days dragged by since I caught Jace in the elevator with another woman. He didn’t bother to call, text, or even send a pathetic apology. Not even a simple “I’m sorry” or “I messed up”—was that too much to ask?
It gnawed at me, this unfinished business. I couldn’t move on, couldn’t let go, because it felt like he was still lurking in my life, like a shadow I couldn’t shake.
I needed closure, even if it meant facing him again. I texted him, my fingers trembling with a mix of anger and frustration. After a few minutes, he replied.
@Jace:
Let’s meet tonight at 6 p.m., at our café.
Our café. The place where we had our first date. The nerve. But still, I agreed.
At 6 p.m., I sat in the corner booth, the one we always chose. The smell of coffee and pastries filled the air, but instead of comfort, it only made me feel more empty. Every time the door opened, I glanced up, hoping to see him. But Jace didn’t show.
By 7 p.m., I was tapping my foot impatiently under the table, staring at the cold tea in front of me. By 8 p.m., my anger was at its peak. Just as I was about to leave, my phone buzzed.
@Jace:
I can’t come. I can’t stand seeing you so sad like this.
I stared at the screen, stunned. What kind of excuse was that? He couldn’t stand seeing me? He was the one who had cheated, yet he was acting like he was the victim.
I slammed my phone down, the fury bubbling up inside me.
When I finally got home, the anger still burned in my chest. I stomped up the stairs, muttering under my breath. And then, as I turned the corner, I froze. Standing outside my apartment was her. The woman from the elevator. She was standing there, nervously wringing her hands, like she’d been waiting for me.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” I shouted, my voice echoing down the hallway. I couldn’t believe she had the nerve to show up at my door.
“I want to talk to you,” she said, her voice calm but clearly uneasy. “I feel like I owe you more than just a conversation.”
I folded my arms across my chest, glaring at her. “You’re a few hours late,” I snapped. “I don’t want anything to do with that jerk. You can have him.”
I turned away, fumbling with my keys, determined to shut this conversation down, but she wasn’t done.
“That’s the thing,” she said, her voice firmer this time, “I don’t want him either.”
Her words stopped me cold. I turned back to her, narrowing my eyes. “What are you talking about?”
She took a deep breath. “I finally realized what he’s really like. I wanted to talk to someone who understands.”
I hesitated. This was absurd. Completely insane. But a part of me, some deep part I couldn’t deny, was curious.
“Fine,” I said, letting out a sigh. “Come in.” I opened the door and stepped aside to let her in.
Once she was inside, I asked, “What’s your name, anyway?”
“Ashley,” she replied softly, her eyes darting to the floor.
“Kate,” I said reluctantly. “You already know that, I assume.”
Ashley nodded. “Yeah,” she whispered, guilt written all over her face.
I walked to the kitchen and motioned for her to follow. “Come on,” I said. “I’d offer you tea, but I think this calls for something stronger.” I grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter and set it down.
She sat at the table, nervously folding her hands. “You didn’t know about me,” she began. “But I knew about you. Jace told me he had a girlfriend, but he said you were awful to him. He claimed you ignored him, flirted with other men, and made him feel worthless.”
“What the—?! That’s exactly what he did to me!” I interrupted, my anger flaring.
Ashley nodded slowly, looking down. “I see that now, after what happened when you caught us. But back then, I believed him. I thought he was going to leave you for me.”
“Looks like the jerk fooled both of us,” I said bitterly, pouring the wine into two glasses.
“That’s why I’m here,” she said, her voice steady. “I don’t want him to get away with it.”
My eyebrows shot up. “What are you suggesting?”
Ashley smiled, a sly, mischievous grin playing on her lips. “Revenge.”
The word hung in the air between us, and for the first time since everything went wrong, I felt something other than anger. I felt alive.
And that was how it all began.
Ashley and I wasted no time setting our plan into motion. We created several profiles for Jace on popular dating apps, carefully crafting his “interests” and uploading pictures from his social media.
We sent flirty messages to men who seemed eager to connect, pretending to be Jace.
“I’m looking for someone special,” we wrote, ending it with a winking emoji. We even set up meetups at his apartment, choosing times when we knew he’d be home.
The thought of him opening the door to find confused strangers standing there made us laugh until our sides hurt.
On another site, we posted his phone number with the tagline: “Night owl? Call me between 2 and 4 a.m. for some fun.”
We couldn’t track how many calls we were getting, but the texts from Jace told us everything we needed to know. “Who are these people?” “Why won’t my phone stop ringing?”
His panic fueled our mission.
Then we had the brilliant idea to put up a billboard. We found ad space in busy areas and designed a bright, eye-catching poster with Jace’s smiling face, the caption reading: “Looking for a man to support and cherish.”
The first billboard went up, and we couldn’t stop laughing. We could only imagine his face when he saw it.
Soon, our phones were buzzing nonstop with texts from him. “Please, stop this,” he begged. “I’m sorry, please just let me fix this.”
Eventually, we responded.
@Me:
We can stop, but there’s one condition.
@Jace:
I’ll do anything. Just stop.
I sent him the amount we’d agreed on—a nice sum for a two-week vacation to Spain. When the transfer hit my account, I sent him one final message.
@Me:
Oops, we forgot the passwords to the accounts, and the billboards are prepaid for two months. 🙂
We blocked his number, knowing there was nothing more to say.
With that, Ashley and I turned our attention to the next chapter of our lives: our trip to Spain.
A few days later, we landed in sunny Spain. The warmth of the sun, the sound of the waves crashing, and the cool breeze from the sea felt like freedom.
We found a spot on the beach, stretched out in lounge chairs, and ordered sangria to cool off.
Ashley turned to me with a big grin. “Best team effort ever,” she said, raising her glass.
I smiled, knowing she was right.
I had lost a terrible boyfriend, but I had gained a hell of a friend. And in the end, revenge had never tasted so sweet.
