When my boyfriend, Jace, claimed he was too sick to text, I went to help him. What I found crushed my trust and changed my life. Days later, an unexpected ally showed up, and together, we turned betrayal into a daring plan that led to a friendship I never saw coming.
I’m Kate, and one cool fall afternoon, I sat in my little apartment, staring at my phone. Jace hadn’t visited in days, saying he was worn out, but his excuses felt off. I called him, my nerves buzzing. “Hey,” he mumbled, sounding sleepy. “Sorry, I was napping. I’m sick—maybe a fever.” He coughed hard, then rushed off. “I’ll text soon.” The call ended, leaving me worried. If he was unwell, I had to help. I grabbed my jacket, set on caring for him. At the store, I picked up pears, tea, and lozenges, imagining his gratitude when I arrived.
At his building, I took the elevator, the grocery bag heavy. When the doors opened, my world stopped. Jace stood there, holding a woman I didn’t know, their embrace too intimate. “Feeling better, huh?” I snapped. Jace froze, stepping back. “Kate, I can explain!” I cut him off. “Don’t try.” I threw the groceries at him, fruit scattering, and stormed out, my heart pounding. He didn’t chase me, and I was glad. He was over.
Days later, Jace hadn’t reached out—no call, no text, no sorry. The silence hurt, trapping me in anger. I needed to move on, so I texted him to meet at our old café, where we’d had our first date. At 6 p.m., I sat in our booth, the scent of pastries bitter. By 8 p.m., he was a no-show. His text came: “I can’t face you like this.” I laughed, stunned. He cheated, yet acted hurt? My fury grew.
When I got home, I stopped short. The woman from the elevator stood at my door, looking uneasy. “What are you doing here?” I demanded. She spoke calmly. “I’m Ashley. I want to talk.” I glared. “I’m done with Jace. He’s yours.” She shook her head. “I don’t want him. I see his true colors now, and I thought you’d understand.” Curious, I let her in. “Fine, come in.”
Over wine, Ashley opened up. “Jace said you were cold, ignored him, flirted with others. I thought he’d choose me.” I snorted. “He did that to me—made me feel worthless while cheating.” We’d both been played. “He can’t get off easy,” Ashley said, her eyes gleaming. “Let’s hit his ego.” Knowing Jace’s homophobia, we planned revenge.
We made fake dating profiles for Jace, using his photos and messaging men, arranging meetups at his place. We posted his number online for late-night calls. His desperate texts—“Who’s doing this?”—had us laughing. The best part was a billboard with his face, saying, “Looking for a man to love.” Seeing it up was a blast. Jace begged us to stop, so I demanded cash for a Spain trip. When he paid, I texted, “Oops, the profiles are locked, and the billboards stay up.”
We blocked him and flew to Spain, landing in warm sunshine. On the beach, sipping cocktails, Ashley grinned. “Best revenge ever.” I raised my glass, laughing. I’d lost a cheater but gained an awesome friend. The trip was a new beginning, and I felt free.
