Chapter 1
Out of boredom one day, I signed up for a pet-sitting gig through an app.
When I showed up at the client's place, I noticed a couple's photo sitting on the shelf.
I didn't recognize the girl. But the guy? I'd been dating him for seven years.
After a brief pause, the girl messaged me again. [Hey, are you at my place yet?]
A sour feeling welled up in my chest, but I forced myself to reply: [Yeah, I'm here. About to scoop the litter box.]
She replied: [Perfect. After you're done, could you spray some air freshener? My boyfriend hates it when the apartment smells like a cat.]
[Oh, and would you mind taking out the trash before you leave? Thanks!]
Her reminder made me notice a used condom thrown in the trash.
The words were out before I could stop them. [Is your boyfriend the guy in that photo?]
Her reply came instantly. [Yeah, that's James Shore. We've been together for a year]
[We're actually really happy. Already planning to get married this year. What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?]
Tears splashed onto my screen as I wrote back. [I did when I walked in here. Guess I don't anymore.]
She instantly sent me a question mark meme.
I hurriedly wiped my tears, took a picture of her tiny ginger cat hiding in the cat bed, too scared to show its face, and sent it to her.
Then I switched the topic. [Your cat's got some serious social anxiety.]
She answered right away. [Yeah, but she's obsessed with my boyfriend.]
[He's actually allergic to cats, but every time he walks through the door, she curls right up on his chest. He ends up popping allergy pills pretty much constantly.]
[What about you? Your profile says you're a huge cat person. How come you don't have one?]
Why didn't I have a cat? Because my boyfriend James, that very same James, was allergic.
I was so crazy about him that when we moved in together after three years, I was the one who sent my five-year-old cat to live with my mom.
Whenever the longing got unbearable, I'd visit home, snap photos, and scroll through them at night, pretending I could reach through the screen and pet her.
And only now did I realize James could've taken medication.
My chest tightened again. I didn't want to keep talking.
I messaged quickly: [Sorry, I should get started on everything.]
Then I switched my phone off and got to work, scooping litter, refilling water, and topping off food.
After all, she'd gone out of her way to set this up. No matter how many times I tried steering the conversation elsewhere, she always found her way back to James.
I wouldn't want her effort to go to waste. I made sure to snap plenty of photos around their place, enough evidence to count. With all the trouble she went through, the least I could do was make it matter.
*****
Half an hour later, I finally left her apartment. Just as I reached the building's front gate, my phone lit up with a message from James.
He told me he'd be working late tonight, so I shouldn't wait for him to have dinner or stay up waiting for him.
The photos I'd taken were more than enough to prove James was cheating.
Every surface in her place held traces of them together. Travel shots from out of town, date photos in the city James and I called home, dinners at restaurants we used to go to, and even group pictures with his friends.
On her nightstand sat the couple's ring James claimed he'd lost, the one he'd worn for seven years.
And still, with all that proof in my hands, I couldn't stop hoping. Maybe I'd catch him myself.
I staked out the building entrance until eight, shivering in the spring cold, but James never showed.
Eventually, I gave up and called a cab home.
But the second I walked through the door, I saw him, the man who'd told me he was working late, sitting on the couch, typing on his phone. It felt like a knife sliding between my ribs.
James stood up the moment he heard me come in. "Where were you? You're home so late."
He crossed the room and took my hand. "My client tonight wasn't important, so I rescheduled. Wanted to spend the evening with you instead.
"You're pregnant for barely three months. You really shouldn't be running around like this. Maybe put those cat-sitting jobs on hold for now.
"The doctor said the first three months are the most fragile."
Then he pulled a pair of slippers from the drawer and knelt to slip them onto my feet.