After we graduated high school, Caleb sweet-talked me into his bed. After that, he was hooked, tangling up my life for seven whole years. Our friends always joked that he was my ultimate simp: "Just marry the guy already, he'd practically die for you." That was, until I accidentally stumbled upon his secret alt account. Thousands of posts, overflowing with a sick, obsessive love. The girl in the pictures, delicate and pretty in a white dress. She was his untouchable first love—the one that got away. Only then did I realize that for seven years, he gave his body to me, but his heart always belonged to someone else. 1 The day I discovered Caleb's secret account. It was a completely ordinary night. Caleb had just returned from a business trip. The moment he walked through the door, he couldn't wait to carry me to bed. He always had a high drive, and after a week apart, he was incredibly impatient and rough. By the time it was all over, I was so exhausted I could barely keep my eyes open. Ding—a short notification sound chimed. I watched as Caleb picked up his phone, his brows pulling together. As he threw on his jacket to head out, I grabbed his arm: "You're going out this late?" Caleb looked back and coaxed me gently: "Something came up at the office. You go to sleep, don't wait up for me." Maybe it was a woman's intuition. Half an hour after Caleb left, I was completely wide awake. I forced myself out of bed and called the night-shift security at his company: "Is everyone working late? I can order some late-night takeout for you guys." "No need, Ms. Chloe. Mr. Caleb let everyone off early today. The office is empty." "There's no one at the company at all?" "No one. Is there something you need, ma'am?" "No, it's fine." After hanging up, I sat on the bed in a daze. Our condo was very close to his office. A ten-minute drive, max. But now, thirty minutes had passed, and Caleb wasn't at the company. Where was he this late at night? 2 The next day, Caleb came back. He seemed to be in a fantastic mood, even humming a tune as he unlocked the door. He brought me my favorite artisan croissants. The bakery was a famous, century-old spot known for its amazing quality. The only downside was that it was across town and didn't offer delivery. "Whatever my wife wants to eat, even if it's the stars in the sky, I'd pluck them down and bake them into cookies for you." I couldn't help but laugh. I rubbed my forehead, thinking I had just been too paranoid lately. If I ever said Caleb didn't love me, my friends would be the first to object: "Chloe, stop creating drama. Have you seen how Caleb acts? He couldn't survive without you. "You've been together for seven years, and every time you fight, he's the one begging on his knees for you to take him back. "Stop overthinking it. Just accept his proposal and marry him already." My friends weren't entirely wrong; Caleb was definitely the more proactive one in this relationship. But they were wrong about one thing: Caleb hadn't proposed to me. Caleb always said: "Baby, I don't want you to settle. I'll propose properly once my career is completely stable." I was young back then and didn't want to be tied down by marriage either. We were on the same page, and just like that, our messy, undefined entanglement dragged on for seven years. During breakfast, Caleb was looking at his phone, a subconscious smile playing on his lips. "What are you looking at? You seem so happy." Hearing my voice, his smile instantly faded: "Nothing, just a funny cat video." "Let me see." Caleb quickly locked his phone, walked over, and scooped me into his arms: "It's nothing interesting." His voice grew husky: "You're much better to look at. Are you full? Because now it's my turn to eat." Right before he pressed me into the mattress, my eyes accidentally caught the screen of his phone. It was a red icon—a niche journaling app mostly used by women. Why would he have that on his phone? 3 Once the seed of doubt is planted, it inevitably sprouts. While Caleb was in the shower, I quickly grabbed his phone. I only had enough time to memorize the username: "Broken Star." Early the next morning, I sat in the study. Using the profile picture and IP location, I cross-referenced and searched. An hour later, I finally locked onto the account. I clicked it open, revealing thousands of densely packed posts. It was like opening Pandora's box. The overwhelming, obsessive infatuation hit me so hard it made my heart pound. [June 9, 2017: I slept with someone else, but I don't regret it. You betrayed me first.] That year, Caleb stumbled into my room reeking of alcohol. He coaxed me out of my clothes and kept me awake the entire night. [September 1, 2018: I didn't get into my dream Ivy League. Did you think you were my only option? You're wrong.] On our first day of college, Caleb knelt holding a bouquet of flowers and confessed to me, saying he would take responsibility for that night. It turned out it was never about me. He was just rebounding because he didn't get into his top-choice school. [August 7, 2021: You actually got married? I will never forgive you. You should rot in hell.] That night, Caleb drank heavily and was incredibly rough. He used toys and restraints; I cried for hours, and the next day I was in the hospital with a fever. [December 25, 2023: You got divorced. Will you finally look back at me now?] That day, Caleb—a guy who actively hated the holidays—actually put on a Santa hat and posted a selfie on Instagram. I couldn't read anymore. With trembling hands, I scrolled straight to the bottom. The latest post was from a few days ago, the night he didn't come home: [The unattainable obsession of our youth becomes the prison of our lifetime.] The photo attached showed a girl, delicate and pretty, wearing a white dress. I finally recognized her. Ashley. Caleb's childhood sweetheart from next door. I sat completely frozen for a long time. My body turned ice-cold, shivering uncontrollably, before the devastating realization set in. It turned out that in this seven-year entanglement, his love never belonged to me for a single second. A youthful crush, years of unrequited love—anyone would shed a tear at such dedication. Their romance was an unstoppable, earth-shattering force. So, what the hell was I? 4 I took screenshots and recorded the screen, saving every piece of evidence. That night, when Caleb came home, he brought a bunch of new bedroom toys. He always had a wild appetite and a preference for gadgets. Keeping up with him was always exhausting. "Not tonight. It's that time of the month." Caleb froze for a second, then pressed his weight onto me: "Then just use your hands and legs, okay? I promise I'll be gentle." "No. I said no." He tried to coax me a few more times, but I firmly rejected him. He was clearly annoyed, but he didn't lash out. He brought me a heating pad and brewed some hot ginger tea: "Alright, baby, you rest up. I need to head back to the office to handle a few things." A friend once joked with me: "Stop being so ungrateful. A guy only wants it that much because he loves you. He's pushing thirty but acts like a horny teenager around you. "Unlike my guy, who sleeps like a dead log. The honeymoon phase passion is long gone." I used to believe that too. Caleb was never stingy about showing his absolute obsession and desire for my body. But I forgot that for men, love and sex can be completely compartmentalized. I asked myself a simple question. If I were Caleb, would I treat the person I truly loved with such reckless aggression? Just like he wrote in his posts: [You are my pristine angel; I never dared to touch you. Just basking in your light was an honor.] Yet our first time was in a cheap motel, with scratchy sheets and an absolute, ruthless lack of restraint. It turns out, the difference between being loved and not being loved... Is truly staggering. 5 I secretly followed Caleb. I watched him walk into a boutique bakery. Ashley, wearing a white dress, came out to greet him. She looked thrilled, clinging to his arm and refusing to let go. Uncharacteristically, Caleb acted cold and pushed her away: "This bakery is yours now. Don't contact me again." Ashley didn't seem to take him seriously and wrapped her arms around him again: "I don't believe you. You could never bear to not see me." As they pulled and tugged at each other, tears welled up in Ashley's eyes. Finally, losing his patience, Caleb pinned her against the wall in the alleyway: "Don't make yourself regret this." Under the dim glow of the streetlamp, the two of them kissed passionately. Hiding in the shadows, I pulled out my phone and snapped several pictures. In my mind, Caleb always hated kissing on the lips. I stared at their intertwined silhouettes. So, it wasn't that he hated kissing. It was just that I was the wrong person to kiss. It wasn't that he was waiting for his career to stabilize before proposing. He was waiting for someone else to get a divorce. Just as Caleb was about to slip his hand under Ashley's top, he stopped abruptly: "Go back inside. I'll come see you tomorrow." Ashley clung to him relentlessly: "Why? Rushing home to let that woman relieve your frustration?" "I won't touch her when I get back." "I don't believe you. Who's prettier, me or her?" Caleb went silent for a moment before saying: "You, of course. How could she even compare to you?" Ashley smiled, utterly satisfied. Caleb: "Do you have any slice cakes left in the display?" Ashley: "Yes, why do you ask?" Caleb: "I'll take one." At that exact moment, my phone buzzed. It was Caleb: [Wife, does your stomach still hurt? [I'm buying you a slice of cake. What flavor do you want?]
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