He Slept With Her In My House I Made It His Worst Mistake Chapter 09

He Slept With Her In My House I Made It His Worst Mistake Chapter 09

I didn’t tell Bradley the day I moved out.

I didn’t have much to take. Two suitcases. One for clothes. One for documents and paperwork.

I was the only one who knew the code to the Lakeside Vista apartment. I went in, packed everything, reset the passcode.

locked the door, and left.

I didn’t leave a key.

I didn’t share the code.

I moved into a short-term rental near my office. Month-to-month.

Then I deleted Bradley’s contact.

Not blocked. Deleted.

If you block someone, they can still find you. If you delete them, it’s like they never existed.

What happened next, I didn’t see myself.

Mr. Vance told me some of it. The property manager filled in the rest. My mom added a few details later.

Day One.

Bradley got home to the Lakeside Vista apartment after work.

He stood at the door and entered the code.

Wrong.

He tried again.

Wrong.

He cycled through three different combinations. All wrong.

He called me.

The number you have dialed is powered off.”

He texted me.

[Message failed. You have been removed as a contact.]

He squatted in the hallway for more than ten minutes. Then he called his mother.

She said one thing. “You brought this on yourself.”

Then she hung up.

Day Two.

He went to the bank.

The joint account had been frozen. His personal savings account had a little over four thousand dollars left.

Four thousand.

Just last month, he had transferred thirty-eight hundred to Chloe.

He sat in the bank lobby for a long time.

Day Three.

He went to work. Chloe had taken leave.

He called her. She picked up.

“Bradley, Ms. Rhodes spoke to me last week. Everything you told me, the apartment is yours, you make thirty thousand a

month, you’re in the middle of a divorce, none of it was true.”

He tried to salvage it. “Chloe, just listen to me…”

“Don’t contact me again.” She hung up.

Day Four.

He rented a cheap apartment on the east side of the city. Eleven hundred a month.

When he moved in, all he had was a duffel bag.

The fridge was shared. The laundry machines took coins. The TV next door blared past one in the morning.

Day Five.

He sent me an email. Texts wouldn’t go through anymore, so he found my work address.

The message had only one line:

[Vivian, we need to talk.]

I read it.

I didn’t reply.

Day Six.

His mother called me.

I answered.

“Vivian…”

I cut her off. “If you have anything to say, talk to my lawyer.”

She sounded flustered. “That’s not what I meant, I just wanted…”

“I’ll send you his number.”

I hung up.

Day Seven.

He posted on Instagram.

[You don’t realize who truly cares about you until life forces you to see it.]

He paired it with a photo of the sky..

No likes.

Not a single comment.