My hand trembles as I push it open.
No disaster. No wreckage. No signs of struggle.
Instead, Ted sits in the center of my living room, his presence a violation more profound than any broken window or scattered belongings.
He casually flips through a stack of my mail on the coffee table, munching on one of my post-workout protein bars... the ones I keep in the drawer under the microwave. Jeans, boots, and a black dress shirt, sleeves rolled up and top buttons undone to an unprofessional degree, showing far more chest than necessary. It used to be a look I thought was attractive.
Now, it just pisses me off.
He shoots up as soon as he sees me, his expression shifting from surprise to something unreadable, an intensity in his eyes that sends a bolt of fear straight through me.
"What the hell are you doing in here?" I demand, my voice steady, but my pulse races.
Ted clears his throat, standing awkwardly. "I thought you were staying somewhere else. I mean, I haven't figured out where yet, but you haven't been here in forever—"
"How the hell did you get in?" I snap, stepping back toward the door, my palms raised like a barrier between us.
He ignores my question, holding up a few sheets of paper. "How the hell do you even have time for all this?" His tone mocks, but the weight in his words makes my stomach churn.
My cellphone bill.
He's holding my goddamn cellphone records.
It hits me like a brick: this isn't the first time things have felt off in my apartment.
My salted caramel lip balm went missing months ago. I'd searched everywhere for it—checking every pocket, every drawer, even the trash can—convinced I'd misplaced it. Sometimes one of the front door locks would be engaged while the other wasn't, a small detail that nagged at me each time I left or returned home. My clothes, my receipts, even an empty milk carton left in the fridge...
I'd thought I was losing my mind.
Each small inconsistency built upon the last, creating a foundation of doubt that made me question my own memory, my own sanity. I remember standing in my kitchen one morning, staring at that empty milk carton, knowing I'd thrown it away the night before, yet there it sat—mocking me from the top of the trash bin.
But it wasn't me. It was Ted. He's been following me, every move, watching.
The realization sends a cold chill down my spine, each small mystery suddenly clicking into place with terrifying clarity. The lip balm, the locks, the milk carton—they weren't signs of my declining mental state; they were breadcrumbs left behind by someone who had been violating my space, my privacy, my very sense of safety.
"Get out." My voice shakes, but my resolve doesn't. "I'm calling the cops."
Ted's jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing as he calculates his next move.
This is the man I used to trustwithout a second thought. The man I oncecalled my boyfriend.
I pull my phone from my shorts pocket, my hands shaking. Before I can even punch in the passcode, Ted lunges. He grabs my wrist, wrenching the phone from my grip and hurling it across the room.
It slams into the doorway to my bedroom and bounces onto the floor, the sound of it hitting the tile echoing in the silence.
I stare at him, frozen.
The Ted I thought I knew—annoying, petty, but ultimately harmless—is nowhere to be found. This manin front of meis a stranger, his eyes wild and unrecognizable. Any trace of familiarity is gone, replaced by a creeping, visceral fear.
"I knew you were cheating on me with Vince the whole time," he says, his voice shaking with anger. "But to break up with me like that? In public? At dinner? You're fucking unbelievable, Andrew."
He kicks the door shut behind me, and before I can react, he grabs my arm, dragging me into the kitchen. He shoves me against the fridge with enough force to knock magnets to the floor, the clatter ringing out like a warning.
"I was floored that night," he spits, his face inches from mine. "You thought you were better than me. What the fuck made you think you couldhumiliateme like that?"
I yank at my arm, trying to free myself, but his grip is iron.
I could fight,I've weathered more than a few brawls growing up in Alaska,but Ted outweighs me by at least forty pounds, and the odds don't favor me. Fear surges like ice water through my veins as I realize how badly this could end. Vince had been right about getting cameras, about being more cautious.
