“Turns Out the Sick One Was Me—For Loving Him”
I was doing something sweet—something stupid, in hindsight.
Jace, my boyfriend of nearly a year, had called in “sick.” Claimed he was down with a fever, barely able to talk, couldn’t even video call. I felt bad for him, so I stopped by his favorite bakery, grabbed some snacks and soup, and headed over to surprise him.
I was standing by the elevator in his apartment building, balancing a bag of warm muffins and a fruit cup, humming a song like I was in a rom-com or something.
The elevator dinged.
The doors slid open.
And boom—there was Jace.
Full-on making out with some random chick. Hands tangled in her hair, her leg kind of lifted like she was auditioning for a soap opera scene.
I stood there frozen for maybe a second before my blood boiled.
“Oh, so you’re feeling better, huh?”
I hurled the fruit cup right at his chest.
Strawberries everywhere.
He barely blinked. Didn’t chase after me.
Didn’t even try to explain.
I stormed out, humiliated, shaking, angrier at myself than him. I had cared. And he didn’t.
Days passed.
No apology. No text. No nothing.
I was walking back to my apartment, earbuds in, hoodie up, when I spotted someone standing by my building entrance.
Her.
The girl from the elevator. The homewrecker.
I yanked my earbuds out.
“What the hell are you doing here?! Get lost. NOW.”
She held up her hands. “I’m not leaving until we talk. You need to hear this.”
I laughed coldly. “I’ve heard enough, thanks.”
She stepped forward, voice low but urgent.
“I’m not his girlfriend. I’m his cousin.”
I blinked.
“Excuse me?”
She nodded, pulling out her phone, flipping to photos—family vacations, childhood pics, Thanksgiving dinners.
I was speechless.
“That kiss in the elevator?” she said, biting her lip. “It wasn’t what you thought. I was trying to shut him up.”
Now I was confused and intrigued.
She continued, “He was ranting about how he tricked you. About how he had this whole game going with his friends, betting on how long you’d stay loyal while he messed around. He said he had you ‘trained,’ his words—not mine. I told him he was disgusting. He tried to grab me and kiss me to ‘shut me up.’ That’s what you walked in on.”
I felt my stomach twist.
“Why are you telling me this?”
She shrugged. “Because you don’t deserve to think you were just ‘not enough.’ He’s a manipulative loser. And because I’ve watched him do this to girls before. You’re not the first, but I’d like you to be the last.”
I didn’t say anything. Just stared at her, heart pounding.
She handed me a flash drive.
“He brags a lot. I started recording. Just in case.”
And with that, she walked away.
Later that night, I plugged it into my laptop—and what I heard made my blood run cold.
Jace, laughing with his buddies:
“She still thinks I’m sick. Bet you \$50 I can get her to bring me muffins.”
“Man, you got her wrapped. You should see how fast she jumps when you text.”
“I’d dump her, but it’s too easy right now. Free food, free rides, and she still thinks I’m some sweet guy.”
That was all I needed.
I sent the audio to every mutual friend we had.
Blocked his number.
And for good measure, sent him one last message:
“Hope you’re feeling better. You’ll need the energy to rebuild your reputation.”
And just like that, the one who thought he was playing everyone?