Chapter 2
Sara
I swiped through the images, each one a dagger to my heart. Matt and Victoria at a party, her hand on his chest. Matt whispered in her ear, a sly grin on his face. And the last one... let's just say if they'd been any closer, they'd have needed a pregnancy test.
"When... how long has this been going on?" I managed to choke out.
"From what I've heard, a few months at least," Claire said softly. "Victoria's an old friend from high school. Apparently, they reconnected at some work event. I thought you knew."
"No, I had no idea. He's been... distant lately, but I never thought..."
"Men," Claire scoffed. "They're all the same. Give them an inch, and they'll take a mile. Or, in this case, give them a work event, and they'll take a Victoria."
Despite everything, I couldn't help but snort at that. "Thanks, Claire. I needed that laugh."
"Anytime, hon. So, what are you going to do?"
"I'm going to talk to Matt. Get the truth straight from the horse's ass—I mean, mouth."
"Be careful, Sara," Claire warned. "Men like that can be smooth talkers when caught with their pants down. Literally and figuratively."
"Don't worry, I'll be fine. I've got my big girl panties on." I paused, glancing down at my outfit. "Well, metaphorically speaking."
Claire chuckled. "That's my girl. Give him hell, and remember – I'm just a phone call away if you need backup. Or an alibi."
We said our goodbyes, and I hung up, staring at my phone. The last photo of Matt and Victoria stared back at me, mocking me with their intimacy.
I zoomed in on Matt's face, searching for any sign of guilt or hesitation. There was none. He looked... happy. Happier than I'd seen him in months.
I stood up, wobbling slightly as the blood rushed to my head. Or maybe it was the anger. Either way, I needed a drink. And a plan.
As I made my way to the kitchen, I thought about all the times Matt had canceled on me recently. All those late nights at work, those sudden emergencies, those "rain checks" that never seemed to clear up.
"Rain check, my ass," I grumbled, yanking open the fridge. "More like a Victoria forecast with a chance of bullshit."
I grabbed a bottle of wine, not even bothering with a glass. As I took a long swig, I caught my reflection in the microwave door. My carefully applied makeup was smudged, and my hair was messy from running my hands through it in frustration.
"Look at you," I told my reflection. "All dolled up with nowhere to go. Meanwhile, Matt's playing tonsil hockey with Miss High School Reunion."
I took another swig of wine, feeling it burn down my throat. The anger was building, replacing the initial shock and hurt. How dare he? How fucking dare he?
I stormed back to the living room, wine bottle in hand, and picked up my phone. My thumb hovered over Matt's contact info. Should I call him? Text him? Show up at the pub and catch him red-handed?
The possibilities swirled in my mind, each more dramatic than the last. I imagined myself bursting into the pub, wine bottle raised like a weapon, shouting, "Aha! Caught you, you two-timing twerp!"
Or maybe I'd take the high road and send him a calm, collected text: "Hey Matt, hope you're having fun with Victoria. By the way, your stuff is in a trash bag on the curb. XOXO"
Ultimately, I decided on a simple text: "Hey babe, still stuck at work?"
I hit send and tossed my phone onto the couch, watching it bounce off a cushion. The wine bottle beckoned, and who was I to refuse? I took another generous swig, savoring the bitter taste that matched my mood.
Minutes ticked by. No reply.
"Probably too busy with his hands full of Victoria to check his phone."
I flopped back onto the couch, a wine bottle dangling from my fingers. The room spun a little, and I realized I should slow down. Or at least switch to a glass like a civilized person.
"Screw it," I muttered, taking another swig. "Civilized is overrated anyway."
Just as I placed the bottle on the coffee table with all the grace of a drunken elephant, the doorbell rang. I froze, wine sloshing dangerously close to the rim.
"Who the hell...?" I grumbled, stumbling to my feet.
I yanked the door open, ready to give the intruder a piece of my mind. And there he was. Matt. He looked annoyingly handsome in his work shirt and slacks, not a hair out of place.
"Hey, beautiful," he grinned, stepping inside like he owned the place. Before I could react, he planted a kiss on my lips. I stood there, stiff as a board, my lips pressed together tighter than a clam with lockjaw.
Matt pulled back, his brow furrowed. "Everything okay, babe?"
"Oh, just peachy," I slurred, closing the door with maybe more force than necessary. "How was work?"
"Busy as always," he sighed, loosening his tie. "You know how it is. Deadlines, meetings, the usual crap."
"Mhmm," I nodded, swaying slightly. "Lots of... work stuff, huh?"
Matt's eyes narrowed, taking in my disheveled appearance and the half-empty wine bottle on the table. "Sara, are you drunk?"
"Pfft, no," I waved dismissively, nearly smacking him. "Just a little... wine."
"Alright, let's get you some water."
"Oh no," I said, my voice dripping with fake sweetness. "What I need is an explanation."
Matt froze halfway to the kitchen. "Explanation? For what?"
I grabbed my phone from the couch, nearly dropping it in my wine-addled state. "For this," I said, shoving the screen in Matt's face.
His eyes widened as he took in the photos. I watched his expression shift from shock to guilt to that infuriating 'caught' look.
"Oh, that," he said, as if I'd just shown him a picture of last week's grocery list. "That's Victoria. She's just a friend from high school."
"A friend? Really?"
"Sara, it's not what it looks like-"
"Oh, cut the crap," I interrupted, my words slurring slightly. "It looks exactly like what it is."
"Babe, please, let me explain-"
"Explain what?" I spat, feeling my anger rise like bile in my throat. "Explain how you've been too busy to see me because you've had your face buried in Victoria's pussy? Or maybe you'd like to explain why you've been lying to me for months?"
Matt reached out, trying to take my hand. I jerked away, nearly losing my balance in the process. "Don't you fucking touch me," I hissed.
"Sara, I'm sorry. It just... happened. I never meant to hurt you."
I laughed. "Should we pop some champagne and celebrate your unintentional fidelity?"
Matt's face hardened. "Look, I said I was sorry. What more do you want from me?"
"I want you to get the fuck out of my apartment."
"Come on, don't be like this," Matt pleaded. "We can work this out. It was just a mistake."
I grabbed the wine bottle, brandishing it like a weapon. "A mistake is buying skim milk instead of whole. A mistake is forgetting to set your alarm. Fucking another woman for months? That's a choice. A shitty, selfish choice."
"Let's just calm down and talk about this like adults."
"Oh, now you want to be an adult?" I took another swig from the bottle. "Where was this maturity when you played hide the salami with Victoria?"
"Sara, please," Matt tried again, his voice soft and pleading. "I love you. We can get past this."
For a moment, I faltered. A tiny part of me wanted to believe him, to fall into his arms and pretend this was all a bad dream. But then I remembered the photos, the way he looked at Victoria, and my resolve hardened.
"No, Matt. We can't." I set down the wine bottle, suddenly feeling very sober. "It's over. I want you out of my apartment and my life."
"But-"
"No buts," I cut him off. "Unless it's your butt walking out that door. Now."
Matt stared at me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. For a moment, I thought he might actually argue. But then his shoulders slumped, and he turned towards the door.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'll go. But this isn't over."
"Oh, it's over, alright."
Matt's face twisted into a scowl, but he didn't argue. He just turned on his heel and stomped out, slamming the door behind him hard enough to rattle my wine glasses.
"Well, that went well," I muttered to the empty apartment.