She froze. Completely froze, her face going pale in the dim light. "What?" "The messages. All of them. Four months of them."
"You went through my phone?" "Your laptop. It was open. And before you try to make this about me invading your privacy, let's talk about you emotionally cheating for four months."
"I haven't been cheating." "'Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we'd met first,'" I quoted. "His response: 'We still could find out.' Your response: 'Lol, maybe.'"
"Want to explain that?" She just stood there, mouth opening and closing. "Or how about the lunch dates you never mentioned? The late-night conversations? The photos you sent him that I never saw?"
"Those were just friendly." "Don't," I cut her off. "Don't insult my intelligence more than you already have. You've been building something with him for months while coming home to me every night and acting like everything was fine."
Update Two.
She tried to sit down, but I held up my hand. "I don't want to hear excuses right now. I want you to pack a bag and leave." "What?"
"This is my home too." "And you can come back tomorrow when I'm not here to get the rest of your stuff. But tonight, you need to leave." "Where am I supposed to go?"
"Call him. I'm sure he'll be happy to help." Her face crumpled. "Please, let's just talk about this. I made a mistake."
"A four-month mistake? A mistake you were making tonight while I was standing right there?" "Nothing physical happened," she said desperately. "I don't care."
"You gave him everything that mattered. The intimacy, the emotional connection, the part of you that used to be mine. Whether you slept with him or not is irrelevant." "I love you," she said, tears streaming now.
"I know I messed up, but I love you." "You don't love me," I said flatly. "You love the stability I provide while you explore your options, but that's done now." "Please," she begged.
"We can work through this. We can go to counseling." "I'm not interested in counseling. I'm interested in you packing a bag and leaving my house."
She stood there crying for another minute, then finally went to the bedroom. I heard drawers opening, clothes rustling. She came out 15 minutes later with a duffel bag, mascara streaked down her face. "This isn't over," she said.
"Yes, it is." She left, and I locked the door behind her. Then I sat back down in the dark and finally let myself feel everything I'd been holding back. My phone started ringing five minutes later.
I blocked her number. Then came the texts from a different number, probably borrowed from someone at the party. "Please talk to me. I'm sorry."
"I'll do anything. I ended it with him. Please." I blocked that number too.
Update Three.
Sunday morning came with more blocked numbers trying to reach me. Her friends, her mom, even her coworker. The audacity of him trying to call me was something else. I blocked them all.