The Photo on Her Wall

Boredom is dangerous. To kill time and make extra cash, I took an online cat-sitting gig. Easy enough, I thought.

But entering the clients apartment, the first thing I saw were couple photos on the wall.

I didnt recognize the woman.

But the man I knew him all too well. Jack, my boyfriend of seven years.

Just as my world tilted, the client texted:

Are you at my place yet?

Bitterly, I replied, Yes. About to scoop the litter.

Great! After, could you spray air freshener? My boyfriend hates the cat smell.

Then: And take the trash out? Thanks!

Her words led me to the kitchen bin. Inside, among the rubbish: a used condom wrapper.

My composure cracked. I had to ask. Is the man in the photos your boyfriend?

She replied instantly. Yes! Thats Jack. Weve been together a year.

Were deeply in love, getting married this year. How about you? Have a boyfriend?

A tear hit the screen, blurring her text.

I did, before I walked in, I typed. Not anymore.

A single question mark emoji was her immediate reply.

I quickly wiped my eyes, aimed my phone at the little ginger cat hiding in its plush bed, and snapped a photo. I sent it to her, desperate to change the subject. Your cats a little shy.

Again, an instant response.

I know, right? But she absolutely adores my boyfriend.

Hes actually allergic to cats, but every time he comes over, she just has to cuddle up in his lap. Poor thing has to pop allergy pills every other day because of her.

What about you? I saw on your profile that you love cats. How come you dont have one?

Why dont I have a cat?

Probably because the man I loved, who was also named Jack, was allergic to cat hair.

Because I was so desperately in love with him that three years into our relationship, when we decided to move in together, I was the one who suggested giving my cat of five years to my mom.

I only went to see him when the ache of missing him became unbearable. Id snap a few pictures, then spend my nights scrolling through them, pretending to stroke his fur through the cold glass of my phone.

And only now, standing in this strangers apartment, did I learn there was another solution. A simple one. Jack could just take an allergy pill.

That familiar, sour ache returned to my chest, sharper this time. I couldn't waste another second on this charade.

Sorry, I need to get back to work, I typed, then shut my phone off.

I moved on autopilot, scooping the litter, refilling the water bowl, pouring fresh kibble. After all, shed gone to great lengths to orchestrate this little play, hasnt she? No matter how many times I tried to steer the conversation away, she dragged it right back to Jack.

It would be a shame not to give her what she wanted.

I had to satisfy her. I had to document everything in this home she shared with Jack. I had to gather all the evidence I could. It was the least I could do to repay her for all her meticulous planning.

I left her apartment half an hour later and had just reached the gate of the complex when my phone buzzed.

It was Jack.

He told me he was working late tonight. Dont wait up for dinner, he said. Dont stay up waiting for him to come home.

The photos Id taken on my phone were more than enough proof. The walls of her apartment were a shrine to their relationship. Vacation snapshots from trips theyd taken. Date night pictures from right here in our city, some from restaurants Id been to with him countless times. There was even a group photo with his best friends, our friends.

And there, on her nightstand, sat the matching ring he'd worn for seven years, the one he told me hed lost months ago.

Even with all of that, a stupid, hopeful part of me needed to see it with my own eyes.

I waited outside her apartment complex until 8 PM, shivering in the biting spring chill, but he never showed. Defeated, I finally hailed a cab and went home.

The moment I stepped through the door, I saw him. The man who was supposedly working late was sitting on our couch, his fingers flying across his laptop keyboard.

My heart felt like it was being pierced by a thousand tiny needles.

He looked up at the sound of the door and his face broke into a smile. He stood up immediately.

Where have you been? Its so late. He walked over, his voice laced with concern. My client tonight wasnt that important, so I rescheduled to come home and be with you.

He took my cold hands in his.

You know, youre pregnant. Youre not even three months along yet, you shouldnt be running around like this. You should stop with that online cat-sitting stuff for a while.

The doctor said the first trimester is the most critical time.

He bent down, pulled a pair of slippers out from the shoe cabinet, and gently placed them on my feet.

He was always like this, so thoughtful and gentle. When he was home, he doted on me, trying to do everything for me. He could even read my most complex, tangled emotions before Id even sorted them out myself.

And tonight was no different.

After putting on my slippers, he led me to the couch. He draped a soft blanket over my legs before speaking in that warm, soothing voice I used to love.

Youre worrying about being a good mom again, arent you?

Dont worry, he murmured, stroking my hair. Im here. Everything will be okay. That stuff you see on TikTok is just the algorithm. It feeds you what youre already scared of.

All you need to do right now is take care of yourself. Once youre past the three-month mark, you can relax and focus on being my beautiful bride.

The pregnancy had unearthed a deep-seated fear of marriage and motherhood in me. It wasnt a surprise, really. My parents divorced when I was five because my father cheated. I grew up with my mother, and for the next twenty-odd years, any time I dared to disobey her, she would launch into the graphic, horrifying story of my birth.

How she nearly bled to death. How the doctors had to manually, painfully pull the afterbirth from her body. She even managed to twist the narrative so that my fathers affair was somehow my fault.

She claimed that being pregnant with me meant she couldnt satisfy his basic needs as a man, leaving him with no choice but to find comfort elsewhere. Thats why he chose his mistress over her.

Because of that shadow, Id been with Jack for seven years, living with him for four, and turned down dozens of his marriage proposals. I just couldnt find the courage to take that step.

Until this. An accidental pregnancy.

Until Jack had knelt before me, tears streaming down his face, begging me to keep the baby. Hed sworn he would never let me end up like my mother.

And Id finally, finally let myself believe him. Id decided to keep the baby. Id decided to marry Jack.

But just as I started to embrace the idea of a future, a family, he cheated.

A tear escaped and rolled down my cheek, landing on the crisp fabric of his suit. More followed, soaking a dark patch on the blanket over my legs.

Seeing me cry sent him into a panic.

Hey, hey, its okay, he said, fumbling for a tissue to wipe my face. Shh, dont cry, dont cry. Ive got you.

He pulled me into a tight hug. The familiar warmth of his body only made the pain in my chest burn hotter. I couldn't take it anymore. I pulled back, my mouth open, ready to confront him about the other woman.

But as I looked up, my eyes caught something just below the collar of his slightly unbuttoned shirt. A dark, purplish mark, partially hidden. A hickey.

A wave of revulsion washed over me, so powerful it stole the words from my throat. I shoved him away, a primal instinct taking over, and scrambled towards the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet as my body heaved violently.

And then it all clicked. His strange behavior over the past month.

Ever since the doctor had advised us to abstain from sex during the first trimester, Jack had started coming to bed later and later. He always waited until I was fast asleep.

Id thought he was just being considerate, afraid he wouldnt be able to control himself.

Now I knew the truth. He was afraid Id find the marks she left on his skin.

The pain in my chest intensified. From outside the closed door, I could hear his urgent knocking.

Ava? Are you okay?

Ava, is it the morning sickness again?

Before I could answer, his phone rang. I heard the muffled sound of him picking it up.

What? To the office now? he hissed. I dont have time for this, my fiance is pregnant and sick in the bathroom.

There was a pause.

What do you mean the client insists on seeing me tonight? Theyll find another lawyer if I dont go? Fine. Fine! Im on my way.

He hung up. The knocking started again, more frantic this time.

Ava, please open the door. Let me just see you, make sure youre okay.

I dont care if youve been sick, I just need to know youre alright.

My chest ached, and my body was limp from the force of my retching. But the thought of seeing his face right now was unbearable. I choked back a sob and forced my voice to sound calm. Is it work? If its urgent, you should go. Im fine, its just the pregnancy sickness. Itll pass.

Dont worry, I added, Ill call you if I need anything.

His work must have been truly urgent. After a few more hurried words of concern through the door, I heard his footsteps retreat towards the front of the apartment. A few moments later, the heavy thud of the front door closing echoed through our home.

The tension drained from my body, and the tears Id been holding back finally came, silent and steady.

Jack and I had known each other since high school. He was the valedictorian; I was the salutatorian. The whole school gossiped that we were a couple, but we weren't. Back then, my world revolved around my grades. And Jack though he always looked at me with a softness in his eyes, a kind of protective warmth, he never actually asked me out.

So in college, I dated someone else. It wasnt until two years later, after a stupid fight led to a breakup, that Jack finally confessed.

He told me hed been in love with me for six years.

My chest felt so tight I could barely breathe. My phone buzzed in my pocket. It was a message from the cat-sitting client.

From Sienna.

Did you steal my diamond ring when you were at my house today?