I had a key to her apartment.
She either forgot that she’d given it to me. Or didn’t care.
In hindsight it’s still hard to tell which one.
Finishing work it was a quick jaunt across Sydney to get to her apartment.
A trip I’d made a hundred times.
I knew every corner. Every shortcut. Every rhythm of every traffic light.
We’d been together for a touch over 4 years.
So even though it was her home. Her neighborhood. It felt like mine too.
Rapping my fist against the door sharply, I waited for a reply.
No shuffle of feet to the front door. No excited foot steps.
It only took a second and the door was open.
Swinging into the darkness that washed over me as I stepped in.
The hallway was short. A matter of steps and I was in her room.
But with photos of our relationship stuck to the walls.
Gifts I’d given her now part of the furniture.
It felt like my room too.
My bag was heavy. Crashing into the bed. I wasn’t long behind it.
After a long day it was so peaceful. Quiet. Almost.
But there’s never silence in the city.
Especially not one like Sydney.
Even when you think you’re alone. There’s noise to keep you company.
A plane soars high overhead. Power lines buzz. There’s a soft hum that just comes with a city like Sydney.
That’s when I heard her voice.
My girlfriend. My travel companion. The woman my mother would introduce as ‘her future daughter-in-law’.
“Don’t be sorry” she said.
“I know I’m not”.
“I wouldn’t have gone out with you that night if I didn’t want something to happen”.
“He has no idea about us.”
“I’ll get rid of him tonight. Then I’m all yours”.
I went outside on autopilot.
My heart was powering out of my chest.
She quickly put the phone down.
“Who was that?” I managed to mumble.
She had her hand on my chest. The same loving way she always did.
Which was perhaps the worst feeling of all.
If she could act like we were the soulmates I thought we were now.
How long had she been doing it?
“Your heart is beating out of your chest, babe!”.
Her concern would have been touching in any other moment.
“Who was on the phone?” I repeated.
“Just my Mum” she said.
Her voice never broke. Never wavered.
“That wasn’t your Mum” I whispered. “I was inside. Listening. I could have been there for one minute or one hour. You have no idea. So it’s best you just come clean.”
I could see it in her eyes. She was thinking about calling my bluff and feigning ignorance.
It felt like an eternity.
Then she broke.
Tears welled up in her eyes. Crocodile ones, no doubt.
From there it all happened quickly.
She cracked. Admitted she had been f*cking one of the regulars at the pub she worked at.
An entire vision of a life together gone in an instant.
It’s not the most dramatic end.
But after 4 years of thinking I had the perfect woman and suddenly seeing it was all a facade, at least I got to drop the mic.
I got to write the end of the story.
I grabbed my bag. Left her with phone in hand. And the realisation she’d been caught. Finally, with no more room to lie.
The key to her apartment stayed on the table. I didn’t need it anymore.
F*CK THIS SHIT. I AM OUT.
A week earlier i saw an amazing post of quora.