Ten Women One Automated Love

A banner notification dropped down from the top of my phone screen: Baby, Im here.

A second later, the metallic scrape of a key turning in the front door lock echoed through the apartment.

Just minutes before, I had been staring at that exact same screen, my thumb trembling uncontrollably over a brand-new iMessage group chat Id just been pulled into.

Counting me, there were exactly ten women in this group. The latest message glared up at me in stark white text against a gray bubble: Ladies, the 6:15 AM 'Good morning, you're my first thought' text is automated. All ten of us get it. Every single day.

The exclusive, sweeping romance I thought I had was nothing but a scheduled push notification.

The group chat was moving fast now, a frantic pile-up of messages as everyone began swapping timelines of when theyd met him. Most of them dated back a year or two.

Are the other nine women in this chat really his girlfriends?

But Declan and I had been together for six years. We were getting married next month.

When he first started sending those 6:15 AM texts, I used to wake up, see the timestamp, and think I was the luckiest woman in the world to be loved with such relentless devotion.

Declan stood in the entryway, his arms wrapped around a massive bouquet of blush peonies.

Babe, we did it. No more long-distance.

He walked in, offering the flowers to me, his eyes crinkling at the corners with that smile I loved so much.

The transfer went through. Im finally back. I get to wake up next to you every day.

Right. We did it.

Six years of cross-country flights and living out of suitcases. Six years of that exact 6:15 AM text, never missing a single morning. I thought it was our thing. Our anchor.

He used to say that if we could survive the distance, wed have a lifetime. He said wed never have to be apart again.

I believed him.

I wanted to speak, but my lips just parted, dry and useless. No sound came out.

Declan bent down to untie his shoes, wheeled his sleek Away suitcase into the living room, and turned back to me. Seeing me frozen in the hallway, he reached out and gave my shoulder a warm, familiar squeeze.

Hey, whats going on?

He tilted his head, studying my face, and let out a soft chuckle.

Are you overwhelmed? Don't know what to say?

His thumb brushed gently against my cheek.

Your eyes are all red.

He stepped closer, dropping his voice into that intimate, gravelly register he reserved just for me.

Come on, don't cry. Its just the end of an era. Were going to be in each others space all the time now. Just promise you wont get sick of me.

He thought they were happy tears.

Declan didn't notice the absolute rigidity of my posture, or perhaps he just categorized my strangeness as the natural shock of a woman overwhelmed by joy.

He gently pulled the peonies from my rigid grip, set them on the console table, and tugged me by the wrist toward the living room.

You sit and decompress. Im making dinner.

He pressed me down onto the sofa cushions.

You mentioned last week you were craving braised short ribs. I looked up a recipe, practiced it a few times, and Im making it for you tonight. Gonna show off a little.

I sat on the sofa. I didn't move a muscle.

Declan bustled around my kitchen, opened the fridge, checked the crisper, and popped his head back out.

Sit tight, gorgeous. No more crying.

He ruffled my hair, then turned back to the stove.

His phone was sitting on the coffee table.

I slowly extended my hand and picked up the sleek device.

I knew the passcode. It was my birthday.

I opened his texts. My heart was hammering a frantic, violent rhythm against my ribs. My fingertips were visibly shaking against the glass screen.

And there they were. The names.

I recognized every single one from the group chat.

Not a single one was missing. They were all sitting right there in his recent contacts.

I tapped the first name.

Blank.

Clean as a whistle. Not a single message history.

I checked the next one. Blank. The next. Blank.

The only thing left was the timestamp of when the contact was created. The oldest one was a girl named Paige. Added two years ago.

Two years ago.

What had he told me two years ago?

This new product launch is killing me, babe. I might be MIA for a bit, my response times are gonna suck.

I had believed him. Id even ordered him expensive adaptogens and sleep gummies, begging him not to burn himself out.

I opened his photo album.

Nothing. A few screenshots of Jira boards and a DoorDash receipt.

I scrolled up. And up. Just useless, mundane photos.

No pictures of other women. No screenshots of flirty texts. Nothing.

He kept it meticulously, ruthlessly clean.

A memory slammed into me. A year ago, I had checked his phone.

My best friend had warned me that long-distance required a little healthy paranoia. I had gone through his phone while he was in the shower. I found absolutely nothing.

I remember feeling so guilty afterward. I felt like a toxic, paranoid girlfriend. I felt like I didn't deserve him.

Now the truth settled heavy in my stomach.

It wasn't that he hadn't been cheating.

It was that he was a professional at erasing the evidence.

But I couldn't wrap my head around it.

I really, truly didn't understand.

Why?

We were good. We were so good.

Even separated by three time zones for six years, we talked every single day. The conversations never dried up.

Those first two years, wed be on FaceTime for three hours at a time, talking about what we had for lunch, seamlessly transitioning into what we were going to name our future kids.

By years three and four, the calls got shorter. Three hours became one hour. One hour became thirty minutes.

I thought that was normal. It was long-distance. The honeymoon phase had to end eventually, right? What couple doesn't transition from fiery obsession to comfortable silence?

But whenever he flew in, it was electric. We were right back in the honeymoon phase.

And then there was the 6:15 AM text. Good morning, beautiful. You're my first thought. Every single day, like clockwork. Six years.

He told me it was my thing.

He told me no one else on earth got to wake up to that.

I believed him.

The dam broke. The tears Id been holding back spilled over, hot and fast, tracking down my cheeks.

When Declan walked out of the kitchen carrying a steaming plate, he froze. He set the food down on the dining table and rushed over to me.

Hey, hey, why are you crying?

He dropped to his knees in front of me, his thumbs gently wiping away my tears. His voice was devastatingly soft.

Shhh, its okay. Im here. Im right here. Were never doing distance again. Youre just happy, right? God, seeing you cry like this is breaking my heart.

I set his phone face-down on the coffee table. I didn't say a word.

Declan stood up, pulled my shoulders into his chest, and rested his chin on the top of my head.

Alright, deep breaths. Come on. I made the short ribs. And a mushroom risotto, just the way you like it. Go wash your face, and let's eat.

Braised short ribs. Creamy mushroom risotto. Roasted asparagus.

My favorite foods. The meals he used to cook for me all the time.

Declan handed me a fork and pushed a wine glass toward me.

Taste it. Ive been practicing this braise for a week, just waiting for you to grade me.

He sat across from me, beaming.

I picked up my fork. I pierced a piece of meat.

I put it in my mouth and chewed.

It tasted like ash. I couldn't register a single flavor.

Whats wrong? Did I dry it out?

Declan was watching me, his own fork hovering mid-air.

I shook my head.

Then eat up. You look too thin.

He placed another piece of meat onto my plate.

We need to fatten you up before the engagement shoot, or the photographer is going to yell at me for starving my bride.

The engagement shoot.

My mind flashed to the last three months. I had been waking up at dawn to run three miles. Id cut out carbs. I had scoured hundreds of Pinterest boards and Instagram portfolios, compiling a twelve-page Google Doc of photographers.

I had a spreadsheet. Which studios had the best natural lighting, who didn't over-edit skin textures, who printed the highest-quality albums.

I thought that day was going to be the pinnacle of my life.

Me in white silk. Him in a tailored suit. Standing on the red rocks of Sedona, laughing into the wind.

And now?

Looking at him across the table made me want to vomit.

Declan was still talking. One of the guys at work recommended a spot out in Sedona. Said the lighting at golden hour is insane. Or did you still want to do the Amalfi Coast? You always talked about Italy.

I remained completely silent.

I rested my fork on the edge of the plate. My fingernails dug into the grain of the wooden table.

Babe? he prompted.

I raised my eyes to meet his.

His expression was utterly sincere. A soft, loving smile played on his lips. His fork was still suspended in the air, waiting for me to engage in our shared future.

My phone buzzed against my thigh.

My screen was lighting up with rapid-fire texts from the group chat.

Ladies, I need to tell you all something.

It was a girl named Brianna.

This morning, he was with me. In a hotel.

My hand shot down, gripping the phone tight enough to crack the case.

Brianna kept typing: He told me he flew in yesterday to surprise me. Said he missed me. We spent the whole night at the Marriott.

When he left this morning, he kissed me and said hed come back tonight. I swear to god I had no idea. I literally thought I had the best boyfriend in the world.

How did you find out? someone asked.

He left his phone on the bed when he went to the bathroom. I went to plug it in for him, and a text popped up. I accidentally swiped it and saw his contacts. I saw all these female names, but zero message history. Why would you delete every single text? I got suspicious, so I searched your names on Instagram.

Brianna was typing in massive blocks of text.

And guess what? Half of you have photos with him on your feeds. Cozy, romantic, couple-y photos. I just kept scrolling, and my blood ran cold. I wrote down everyone's handles, DM'd you all, and made this chat.

So youre the one who found us?

Yeah. I added you guys this morning. I thought there would be maybe three or four of us. I didn't expect nine. And honestly, there were more names, but I couldn't memorize them fast enough before he came out of the bathroom.

I stared at the screen, my hands trembling violently now.

This morning.

He was in a hotel bed with Brianna this morning.

He woke up with another woman, played the devoted boyfriend, and then got on a plane to stand in my kitchen and tell me we were going to be together every day for the rest of our lives.

A seamless, sociopathic transition.

Are you still there, OP? Brianna tagged me in the chat.

Im here, I typed back.

Be careful. Hes dangerous. I have this necklace he gave me last nighttold me it was custom jewelry. I reverse-image-searched it. Its a twelve-dollar drop-shipped piece from TikTok Shop. I threw it at his head and walked out.

Just as I read that, Declan stood up and walked around the table to stand beside my chair.

Whats going on? Youve been glued to your screen since I got here.

He leaned over, trying to catch a glimpse of my phone.

Smack. I slammed the phone face-down onto the table.

Declan flinched, startled, but quickly recovered with a soft laugh.

So secretive. Are you looking at wedding dresses? Okay, okay, I won't look. Keep it a surprise.

He kissed the top of my head.

If you don't want to eat, we don't have to. Youre totally off tonight. Did you not sleep well? Let me clean this up, and Ill come cuddle you.

He took my hand, walked me to the bedroom, and pulled back the duvet for me.

Declan washed the dishes, lingering in the living room.

I heard the zip of his suitcase. Then, the soft pad of his footsteps approaching the bedroom door.

Are you asleep? he whispered.

I didn't answer.

Babe.

Nothing.

I know youre awake.

I can see your phone lighting up the room.

I froze.

Declan. I finally spoke. My voice sounded jagged, like shattered glass.

Yeah?

Where were you this morning?

He paused. Just for a fraction of a second.

At my apartment.

His tone was flawlessly casual.

I spent the whole morning packing up the last of my boxes, then headed to the airport. Why? Whats up?

I rolled over to face him.

Look at me, I demanded.

Im looking right at you.

He smiled, reaching out to stroke my cheek.

You are being so weird today. Seriously, what is going on in that head of yours?

Declan. Exactly where were you this morning?

He blinked. His face was a masterclass in innocent confusion. Not a single micro-expression out of place.

I was at my place. I just told you. Packing up the apartment.

He pulled his hand back and sat on the edge of the mattress, angling his body toward me.

Did you see something on social media? Did someone say something to you?

Let me show you something.

I sat up. I picked up my phone. I unlocked it, opened the group chat, and turned the screen directly toward his face.