“It wasn’t one time.” The words came out flat, certain. I didn’t even know why I was so sure, but I was. “This has been going on since he moved in.”

The look on her face told me everything. Guilt. Panic. The realization that her life as she knew it was over. My phone was still buzzing with responses, but I didn’t turn it back on. I didn’t need to see what people were saying. The damage was done. Everyone who mattered knew what she was, what they both were.

“I’ll stay at a hotel tonight,” I said, standing up. “When I come back tomorrow, you’re gone.”

I walked out my front door and got in my car. Behind me, I could hear Sarah screaming my name, begging me to come back, but I was already gone.

***

The hotel room was quiet except for my phone, which hadn’t stopped ringing in 18 hours. I’d finally turned it back on around noon and watched two days of my life explode in real time. 47 missed calls from Sarah, 23 from Jake, dozens more from family members, friends, her co-workers who’d received the video.