Chapter 3
The next morning, I woke up early.
When I turned on my phone, it was blowing up with messages.
Adam had called me over a dozen times and sent me dozens of messages.
They read: [Honey, where are you?]
[I know I messed up. Can we just talk?]
[Don't shut me out like this. Let's talk in person.]
[If you keep ignoring me, I'm going to call the cops.]
His last message came in at 3 AM: [I'm outside our apartment, waiting. When are you coming home?]
I didn't reply.
There were also a few messages from Theresa.
They read: [Hey, haven't heard from you lately. Want to grab a meal sometime?]
[You there?]
[Are you mad at me?]
Reading her messages, I just felt sick to my stomach.
Mad at her? What did she think?
Did she ever think about how angry I'd be while she was hooking up with my husband?
I didn't reply to her either.
I wanted to dig deeper.
I closed her messages and opened Adam's cloud gallery.
He didn't know we shared the same account.
I'd never checked it before. But today, I wanted to see.
I pulled up the photos and sorted them by date.
The latest one was from yesterday, snapped right at the entrance of the mall.
It was a selfie of Adam and Theresa, their heads leaning in close, both smiling sweetly.
I kept scrolling.
Three days ago, they were having dinner at a restaurant.
Five days ago, they were watching a movie together.
A week ago, they were in a hotel.
That's right—a hotel.
Theresa took the photo. She was lying in bed in a bathrobe, and in the mirror behind her, Adam's figure was clearly visible.
He was wearing those familiar pajamas I'd seen him in before.
I kept scrolling.
Two weeks ago, three weeks ago, a month ago, two months ago...
The photos just kept coming.
Beach, park, restaurant, movie theater, hotel...
The oldest one was from last October.
Adam and I got married in August last year.
Only two months after we got married, he started seeing Theresa.
No, that couldn't be right.
I scrolled back even further.
There were even older photos from June last year.
Before we were even married.
That photo was taken at a café, with Adam and Theresa sitting together.
In the photo, she leaned her head on his shoulder.
At that time, we were planning our wedding.
Theresa helped me choose my wedding dress and sat with me while I tried on makeup.
She said, "You'll be the most beautiful bride."
I believed her.
I kept scrolling.
Last March, last January, December two years ago...
The photos kept going. Never stopping.
The oldest photo was from September two years ago.
I first met Adam in August that year.
Theresa introduced us.
She told me, "He seems like a solid guy. You should give him a shot."
In September that year, Adam and I had only been together for a month.
Back then, Theresa was already seeing him behind my back.
I stared at that photo for a long time.
In the picture, Theresa had her arms wrapped around his neck. He was grinning at her, probably whispering something sweet.
The background was an amusement park, with a Ferris wheel in the distance.
I knew that place.
It was Theresa's favorite spot.
She'd taken me there before.
She once said, "Someday, I want to take my wedding pictures here with my husband."
I always thought she hadn't found her Mr. Right yet.
Turns out, she'd already found him.
Turns out, he was my husband.
I put my phone down.
The room was dead silent.
I could hear my own breathing—loud and ragged, almost like I was suffocating.
So many memories came flooding back.
When Theresa introduced Adam to me, she told me they were just friends. I never suspected a thing.
At my wedding, she was my bridesmaid, smiling and helping out the whole time.
After we got married, she'd often ask me to hang out, always checking in about how things were with Adam.
I'd say things were fine. She'd just smile and say, "That's good."
Only now do I get it.
She wasn't checking on me. She was checking if I'd found out.
All at once, a wave of nausea crashed over me.
I stumbled into the bathroom, dropped to my knees by the toilet, and dry-heaved until my throat burned, but nothing came out.
I was still so drained.
It's only been four days since the surgery.
I leaned on the wall to steady myself, then splashed some water on my face.
I looked in the mirror. My eyes were red-rimmed.
I took a deep breath.
I told myself not to cry.
I couldn't cry.
I still had things to do.