“We’ve never done anything together that I’ve actually cared about.” His voice echoes down the hallway, slicing through the quiet.

Two days ago, his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing while he was in the shower. I didn’t mean to snoop, I just wanted to see who was blowing up his phone. When I saw the name Noah, my mind relaxed. Just one of his friends, I thought, but then my eyes drifted down to the last message: “We’re over. Don’t text me. Don’t call me. Don’t come to my apartment.”

My stomach dropped. I picked up the phone, my hands shaking, and tried to unlock it. I was never the type of girlfriend who checked my boyfriend’s phone, so, of course, I didn’t know the password. I tried birthdays and anniversaries, but nothing worked.

I click 0000. It opened (of course).

There they were, pictures of them together, smiling in restaurants he never took me to, texts about weekend trips, and even pictures of houses they had been “thinking about buying”. He had changed her name to Noah so I wouldn’t suspect anything. As I look further I figure out her name is Olivia.

I didn’t cry. Not a single tear dropped.

Now, two days later, he is standing in front of me, his face red while he spits out words like they will somehow make him right.

I stare at him, calmly.

“Then I guess you’ll have plenty of time to do things you care about,” I say while grabbing my jacket.

He scoffs. “You think you’re better than me?”

I chuckle. “No. I just think I’m finally done pretending you’re better than me.”

He stands there, mouth open like he wants to say more but nothing comes out (for once). I turn around and walk toward the door. My hand grabs the knob as his phone starts buzzing.

He glances at the screen and then looks up at me. “You don’t have to go,” he says. “It’s not what you think.”

I face the door. “It never is.”

I step outside, the cold air rushing to my face. My phone vibrates and I get a text from an unknown number.

“Hey I’m sorry. I didn’t know about you. He told me you two were never dating.”
I stare at the message.

“Don’t be sorry. You helped me.”

I was walking down the street when another text came.

“Just so you know, I didn’t even know we were related till my mom recognized him in a picture. I swear I didn’t know.”

I stopped dead in my tracks.
The cold hit a little differently this time. Not painful but numb.

I didn’t respond. I didn’t feel angry, sad, or betrayed anymore, just exhausted. The lies, the secrecy, the changing her name in his phone…

He wasn’t just careless.

He wasn’t just selfish.

He was wrong in ways that I would never even think of.
I could almost hear him inside, probably pacing, probably rehearsing some text he thinks will fix everything. Something about “mistakes” and “we can get through this.”

There is no coming back from realizing the person you loved is cheating on you with his own blood.

I get to my car and get in.
For the first time in a long time, I don’t look back.