The messages keep coming, rapid-fire, each one more unhinged than the last.
UNKNOWN: DON’T IGNORE ME, DEV!
UNKNOWN: If I can't have you, what's the point?
That last one worries me.
I look at Jade, and I see my own fear reflected in her eyes.
"Is she threatening to hurt herself?"Jade whispers.
"I don't know." My voice sounds foreign to my own ears. "I don't know what she's capable of anymore."
I thought Mila was manipulative. Obsessive, even. But this—this is something else. This is someone losing it in real time, and we're watching it happen through glowing text on a screen.
"We need to document everything," Jade says, suddenly all business. "Screenshots. Timestamps. Her number from the text, too. All of it."
"Are you thinking we should get a restraining order?"
"I think we need evidence.” Jade grabs her laptop from the coffee table and opens it with trembling hands. "If she escalates further—we need proof that this has been ongoing."
I watch my wife—this woman I've hurt so badly—take charge of a situation I created. She's saving us both, and I'm standing here like a useless fucking bystander.
"I'm sorry." The words scrape out of me. "Jade, I'm so fucking sorry. This is all because I?—"
"Don't." She looks up at me, her eyes blazing. "We can wallow later. Right now, we protect ourselves."
For the next two hours, we screenshot every message. We create a shared folder. We write dates, times, and contact methods. Jade drafts a timeline of Mila's behavior since New York—the texts, the gym, the pregnancy claim, today's confrontation.
By the time we're done, my eyes ache and my back is stiff from hunching over the kitchen table.
"This is insane," I remark, staring at the documented evidence of a woman's breakdown. "How did it get this bad?"
"She's been building toward this for a while." Jade closes the laptop. "You were the reason, but this isn't about you, Devon. This is about her. About whatever is broken inside her that makes her think this is okay."
I want to believe that. I want to believe I'm not entirely responsible for unleashing this chaos on our lives.
But the guilt is feeding on every new message, every escalation.
My phone buzzes one more time.
I almost don't look.
But I do.
UNKNOWN: Jade looked so smug walking out of the coffee shop today. You should tell her to be careful. Accidents happen.
I grip the chair, cursing under my breath. She’s threatening Jade.
"What?" Jade asks. "Devon, what is it?"
I turn the phone toward her.
She reads the message, and I watch the color leave her cheeks.
I pull her into my arms, holding her tight against my chest, and I feel her heart hammering against mine. Two people clinging to each other in a world that no longer feels safe.
"We're calling the police tomorrow," I state into her hair. "First thing."
