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“I know you didn’t,” I said immediately. “But someone did, and they’re wrong.”
She looked at me then, really looked at me, like she was searching for something—truth, maybe, or reassurance. But doubt had already slipped in. I could see it. And once doubt appears, it doesn’t leave easily.
“Then who would do this?” she asked.
I didn’t have an answer.
That was the worst part.
She stepped back, pulling her hand away from mine. That small movement felt bigger than anything else that had happened.
“I need some space,” she whispered.
Before I could say anything else, she pulled out her phone and called her mother. I stood there helplessly as she walked away a few minutes later, wiping tears from her face, leaving me alone in a parking lot that suddenly felt unfamiliar.
The drive home was a blur.
The house felt empty without her, even though everything was exactly where it had always been. I couldn’t sit still. My mind kept replaying the moment—the message, her expression, the silence.
By evening, I was outside with a bucket of water and a cloth, scrubbing the words off my car like I could erase what had already been set in motion. The scratches were deep. Too deep. The more I tried to remove them, the more obvious it became that they weren’t going anywhere easily.
Kind of like what they’d done to my life.
I was exhausted, both physically and mentally, when I heard footsteps behind me.
“Don’t bother thanking me,” a voice said calmly. “You’re welcome.”
My body went rigid.
I turned slowly, my heart pounding.
Standing a few feet away was someone I hadn’t expected to see—someone from a past I thought I had closed completely.
It was Daniel.
My former coworker.
We hadn’t spoken in over a year.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice sharp with confusion.
He shrugged casually, like we were catching up over coffee instead of standing in the middle of something that had just shattered my marriage.
“Just thought you should get what you deserve,” he said.
My mind struggled to catch up. “What are you talking about?”
He nodded toward the car. “The message.”
It felt like the ground shifted under me again.
“You did this?” I asked, disbelief flooding every word.
He didn’t deny it.
“Why?” I demanded. “What possible reason—”
“You really don’t remember?” he interrupted.
I stared at him, searching my memory. Then it hit me.
Months before I left that job, there had been a promotion. One position. Two candidates.
Me and him.
I got it.
He didn’t.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I said, shaking my head. “That was work. That had nothing to do with my personal life.”
“It had everything to do with mine,” he snapped. “That promotion changed things for me. You walked away like it was nothing.”
“So you decided to destroy my marriage?” I shot back.
He crossed his arms. “I didn’t destroy anything. I just… planted a seed.”
The words made my stomach turn.
A seed of doubt.
And it was already growing.
“Get off my property,” I said, my voice low but firm.