I joined a local buy-and-sell group on my phone. Just looking for some secondhand furniture, nothing special. But the prices in this group made no sense. Someone was selling an ordinary iPhone SIM removal tool for $888. And people were actually commenting, asking about it. I was about to leave when a new post caught my eye. "1999 May edition bicycle, $800, pickup only." My birthday. May 1999. That was odd. I clicked on the photo. My blood ran cold. The background was unmistakably my living room. And we'd only bought that bike two months ago. Before I could process this, someone commented. "Bro, last time was great. The service was top-notch. This $800 price is a steal. Five stars!" The group exploded with questions. "Boss, what are the specs and dimensions?" The seller replied quickly. "90 minutes. 89-58-92." My hands started shaking. Those were my measurements. My exact measurements. One coincidence I could dismiss. But this? "Damn, that figure!" someone typed. "Bro, got real photos? Can you do delivery?" Then someone posted a picture. A woman in a black and white maid outfit, collapsed on a sofa. She wore a mask, hiding her face. But I recognized the hair color. And that birthmark on her chest. It was identical to mine. I zoomed in, my breathing rapid. The photo disappeared. "Already tried her out for you guys. Boss is reliable You can trust this." The seller replied casually. "I just got into fishing lately. Not interested in cycling anymore. I'd like to share with my brothers." I looked at the corner of our living room. Ryan's collection of secondhand fishing gear, piled high. My stomach churned. Ryan Mitchell, my husband of three years. Always so sunny, so clean-cut. I never imagined he'd do something like this. Drugging his own wife. And selling... photos? Videos? The messages kept rolling. My scalp tingled. My ears rang. These men were discussing me like I was whore. No dignity. No humanity. "Bro, I'll take it. When can I pick up?" someone finally bid. "Don't rush. This premium goods is mine. I'll add $100!" People started competing. The seller grew excited. "Highest bidder wins! I guarantee the quality is top-grade!" Ryan's disgusting innuendo made the chat explode. I felt like I'd fallen into hell. Cold. Sticky. Nauseating. My hands trembled as I took screenshots. The simple motion took several tries because my fingers wouldn't cooperate. I was about to confront Ryan when a user named "CatLover" made an offer.
"$10,000. But I need delivery." The price silenced everyone else. "CatLover" posted an address. "Riverside Apartments." I was still praying this was all a misunderstanding. Then Ryan texted me. "Honey, I sold our old bike. But the buyer can't pick up. Can you drop it off at Riverside Apartments this afternoon?" Everything froze. My chest tightened so much I couldn't breathe. "Do I have to go?" My fingers shook as I typed, hoping Ryan had some shred of conscience left. "Honey, what's wrong?" Ryan's reply was as gentle as always. "Are you feeling sick? Should I take you to the doctor?" Ryan and I had been together since high school. Sweethearts who went from prom to wedding vows. Even after marriage, he remained thoughtful and caring. All our friends envied me for marrying my soulmate. But now he wouldn't give me a straight answer. "I don't feel well. I don't want to go," I refused again. Ryan paused, then replied with words that chilled me to the bone. "Honey, did you catch a cold last night? There's Vitamin C in the nightstand drawer. Take one." "I'll leave work early and go with you." "Why do I have to go?!" I couldn't stand this feeling of being hunted. Tears streamed down my face as I typed. Ryan called immediately. "The buyer is an autistic girl. She's scared of men, so she needs a woman to deliver." His voice sounded so natural. "You're usually so compassionate. What's wrong today?" If I didn't know the truth, I might have believed him. "I'm not going!" My voice was flat, but my body shook. From anger or fear, I couldn't tell. Minutes later, the seller @'d "CatLover" in the group. "Bro, sorry. Something's wrong with the goods today. Can't do delivery." I exhaled in relief. Then "CatLover" responded. "No problem. I can pick up." "But I have... specific requirements. Can she handle it?" The seller replied instantly: "Don't worry. As long as you don't break her, I offer after-sales service!" Their words wrapped around me like thorned rope, suffocating me. The seller posted an address. My address. Our home. I had to run. I stumbled out of the bedroom, rushing toward the door. Ryan texted: "Honey, did you take that vitamin?" "I'm almost home to be with you." I reached for the doorknob. "Honey, where are you going?" The living room camera swiveled toward me. Ryan's voice came through the speaker. My scalp prickled. Like I was walking down a dark hallway, watched by hungry eyes lurking in the shadows. "Just... getting some air." I forced myself to stay calm, but my voice trembled. "You sound terrible. Don't go out. I'll be right there." Ryan sounded so concerned. I thought bitterly: no wonder I never suspected him. He was such a good actor. I ignored him and reached for the door again. I needed to leave---to my parents' house, to the police station, anywhere. "Why do you have to go out?" Ryan sighed. "You're not well. What if you faint outside? I'd have to search everywhere for you." "But it's okay. You gave me access to your phone's location. I can track you anytime." His casual words sent ice through my veins. He was telling me he could find me anywhere. I laughed bitterly. Our love and trust had become chains. I glanced at the camera with despair and grabbed the door handle. The moment I touched it, my head spun. My legs gave out. I collapsed.
I woke up in my bedroom. Every muscle ached. My clothes had been changed. Terror gripped me. What happened while I was unconscious? I heard voices outside the door. Ryan was talking to someone. "Alex, you can't just bring strangers to our house!" Ryan sounded angry. "Emma was home alone. You could've scared her!" I was confused. Then I heard Ryan's brother Alex speak. "Bro, the guy needed the bike urgently. Emma didn't want to deliver it, so I brought him here to pick it up. How was I supposed to know she was sick?" "And your fishing gear---when are you taking it?" Ryan's voice rose. "You keep buying useless junk and dumping it at my place because you're scared your wife will yell at you!" I lay frozen in bed. The bike sale wasn't Ryan? The fishing gear wasn't his? Had I been wrong about everything? But that woman in the mask looked exactly like me. Ryan opened the door. He saw me awake and kissed my forehead gently. "Good. Your fever's gone." "Silly girl, didn't even know you were burning up. Still feeling bad?" I glanced at Alex standing in the doorway, his eyes cold and distant. The questions stuck in my throat. I shook my head weakly. Maybe I'd misunderstood. Maybe the seller wasn't Ryan. At least this time, "CatLover" didn't get what he wanted. Right?
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