Then I saw.
My Jake welcomed a woman at our door. No ordinary woman she laughed as she offered him drink. Heart plummeted. I kept scrolling. A woman with a stack of movies appears again.
It seems Jake had company whenever I was away. His camera, ironically for our safety, recorded each visit to different women.
Sitting transfixed, the iPad fell to my lap. My thoughts raced. How could he? When did our relationship become a sham? My vision was obscured by tears, and each camera clip hurt. Was all my trust and love for him one-sided? Was I alone?
Each woman’s giggle and bottle of wine made the place feel smaller and walled in. I adored this space, our shared life, but each room screamed treachery.
Reality sank like lead in my stomach, making me queasy and lumpy. This wasn’t a typo or misunderstanding. Betrayal was intentional and persistent. My nails pierced my palms as I made fists.
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