It was supposed to be a simple check-in. I wanted to make sure my boyfriend, Jace, was okay after not hearing from him for days. But when I walked in to see him with another woman, everything I thought I knew shattered. The trust I had in him was gone in an instant. What I didn’t expect was that a few days later, someone I never thought would show up at my door, would change everything. Together, we started something that would alter my life in ways I never could’ve imagined.
One crisp autumn afternoon, I sat alone in my small, cozy apartment. The sunlight filtered weakly through the window, casting a soft glow across the room. I glanced outside at the orange and red leaves that fluttered by in the breeze, and they seemed to taunt me with their calmness. I wasn’t at peace. I was waiting. Waiting for Jace to show up.
He hadn’t visited in days. He’d been sending me texts saying he was “just tired” and “not feeling great,” but something about those excuses didn’t sit right with me. It was the kind of feeling in your gut that you can’t ignore.
I fiddled nervously with the hem of my sweater, tapping my foot against the hardwood floor. Each tick of the clock seemed to echo louder than the last, and my impatience grew. Finally, unable to sit still any longer, I grabbed my phone and dialed Jace’s number. It rang a few times before he answered.
“Hello?” His voice was groggy, like he’d just woken up.
“Are you sleeping?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady but failing.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, pausing before adding, “Sorry I didn’t text. I just fell asleep. I’m not feeling too great—maybe I have a fever or something.”
“Oh…” I muttered, unsure how to respond.
He coughed loudly into the phone, making me wince. “Look, I’ll text you later,” he said quickly, his voice rushed.
“Feel bet—” I started, but the line went dead before I could finish my sentence.
Frustration bubbled up inside me. If Jace was really sick, I couldn’t just sit there doing nothing. I had to be there for him. That’s what girlfriends do, right?
I threw on my coat and stepped out into the cool autumn air, the chill biting at my skin. The walk to the store felt like it took forever, each step fueled by my growing concern for him. Inside, I grabbed fresh fruit, tea, and a box of throat lozenges, imagining how much he’d appreciate it once I showed up.
Back at his building, I hit the elevator button, adjusting the heavy bag on my arm. Normally, I would’ve taken the stairs, but not today. The elevator hummed softly as it descended, and I tried to distract myself by humming a song that had been stuck in my head for hours.
When the doors slid open, I froze. There he was—Jace. But he wasn’t alone. His arms were wrapped around a woman I didn’t recognize. She was leaning into him, her face pressed against his chest. The way they stood there, so close, made my stomach churn. This wasn’t just a friendly hug. This was something much worse.
“Looks like you’re feeling better,” I said, my voice louder than I intended, slicing through the quiet hallway.
Jace’s head whipped toward me, his face draining of color. “Kate…” he stammered, his arms falling away from the woman. He stepped toward me, his hand reaching out like that would somehow fix the situation. “I can explain.”
I held up my hand, cutting him off. “Don’t. Just don’t.” I could feel my anger bubbling over. “If you take one more step or say one more word, I swear I’ll make you regret it.” In that instant, I hurled the bag of groceries at him, and the fruit scattered across the floor, rolling in all directions.
Without waiting for him to respond, I turned on my heel and stormed away, my heart pounding with a mix of anger, betrayal, and disgust. He didn’t call after me. He didn’t try to stop me. And for that, I was strangely grateful. He wasn’t worth it. Not anymore.
Days dragged on after that encounter. Jace didn’t bother to call, text, or send any apology. Not even a simple “I’m sorry, I’m a jerk, and I don’t deserve you.” Was that too much to ask?
It gnawed at me. The unfinished business. I couldn’t move on. I couldn’t let go. It felt like he was still there, lingering like a shadow in my life.
I needed closure. Even if it meant facing him. So, I texted him, my fingers trembling with a mixture of rage and desperation. After what felt like an eternity, 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 audacity. But still, I agreed.
At 6 p.m., I sat in the corner booth of the café, the place where we always sat. The smell of fresh coffee and pastries surrounded me, but it offered no comfort. I couldn’t shake the anger that simmered inside me.
Every time the door opened, I looked up, hoping it was him. But Jace didn’t show. By 7 p.m., I was tapping my foot under the table, staring at the untouched cup of cold tea in front of me. By 8 p.m., my patience snapped. Finally, my phone buzzed.
@Jace:
I can’t come. I can’t stand seeing you so sad like this.
I stared at the screen in disbelief. He couldn’t come? He couldn’t stand seeing me sad? Wasn’t he the one who had betrayed me? Yet here he was, acting like the victim. The anger inside me boiled over.
When I finally got home, I was seething. I stomped up the stairs, muttering under my breath, but as I turned the corner, I froze. Standing outside my apartment was her. The woman from the elevator. She looked nervous, like she had been waiting for me.
“What the hell are you doing here?!” I shouted, my voice echoing in the hallway. How could she have the nerve to show up at my place?
“I want to talk to you,” she said, her voice calm but uneasy. “I feel like I owe you… more than just a conversation.”
I folded my arms, 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, trying to shut the door on this insane encounter.
“That’s the thing,” she said, her voice a little stronger now. “I don’t want him either.” Her words froze me in place. “I finally realized what he’s really like, and I wanted to talk to someone who understands.”
I hesitated. This was crazy. This was absurd. But some part of me, some twisted part, was curious.
With a sigh, I turned back to face her. “Fine. Come in,” I said, opening the door wider and stepping aside.
She stepped in, and I asked, “What’s your name?”
“Ashley,” she said softly, her eyes flicking to the floor.
“Kate,” I said, introducing myself reluctantly.
“I know,” she admitted, guilt written all over her face.
I motioned to the kitchen. “Come on, I’ll offer you something stronger than tea.” I grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter and set it down in front of her.
Ashley sat at the table, folding her hands nervously. “You didn’t know about me,” she began. “But I knew you existed. Jace told me he had a girlfriend, but he said you were awful to him. He claimed you ignored him, flirted with other men, made him feel worthless.”
“What the—?! That’s exactly what he did to me!” I snapped, my anger flaring.
Ashley nodded slowly. “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. “So, what now?”
“That’s why I’m here,” she said, her voice steady. “I don’t want him to get away with it.”
“What are you suggesting?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.
Ashley smiled, a sly, mischievous grin forming on her face. “Revenge,” she said simply. “Do you know how much of a homophobe Jace is?”
Her words stopped me cold. Despite my anger, curiosity sparked. And that’s how it all began.
We wasted no time setting our plan into motion. We created fake profiles for Jace on several dating sites, carefully crafting his “interests” and uploading photos we had saved from his social media.
We sent out flirty messages to men who seemed eager to connect, pretending to be Jace himself.
“I’m looking for someone special,” we wrote, ending it with a winking emoji. We even set up meetups at his apartment, making sure they’d be at times when we knew he’d be home.
The thought of him opening the door to confused strangers made us laugh until our sides ached.
We went even further, posting his phone number on another site with a tagline: “Night owl? Call me between 2 and 4 a.m. for some fun.”
Though we couldn’t track the exact number of calls, Jace’s texts told us everything we needed to know.
“Who are these people?” “Why won’t my phone stop ringing?”
His desperation only fueled us to keep going.
The final touch? A billboard. We found ad space in the busiest parts of town and designed a bright, eye-catching poster featuring Jace’s smiling face with the caption: “Looking for a man to support and cherish.”
When we saw the first billboard go up, we high-fived in the car, giddy with excitement.
Jace’s texts and calls flooded our phones. “Please, you have to stop this,” he begged. “I’m begging you!”
We finally responded.
@Me:
We can stop, but there’s one condition.
@Jace:
I’ll do anything. Just stop.
I sent him the amount—it was enough for a two-week vacation to Spain. When the transfer cleared, I sent one last text.
@Me:
Oops, we forgot the passwords to the accounts, and the billboards are prepaid for two months. 🙂
After sending that final text, Ashley and I blocked his number. There was nothing left to say. It felt like the closing of a chapter in a book I’d been stuck reading for far too long.
We immediately turned our focus to planning our trip. A few days later, Ashley and I landed in Spain.
The sun was shining, the air was warm, and the sound of the waves crashing against the shore was the perfect soundtrack to our newfound freedom.
We found a spot on the beach, stretched out on lounge chairs, and ordered cold sangria.
Ashley turned to me, a grin spread across her face. “Best team effort ever,” she said, raising her glass of sangria.
I smiled, knowing she was right.
I’d lost a terrible boyfriend, but I had gained one hell of a friend. And revenge? Well, it never tasted so sweet.
