My best friend forever begged to crash at my place, then got my fianceé pregnant while I pulled overtime for our wedding. So, I gave them the karma they deserved. All right, so I, a 33-year-old male, need to get this off my chest because at this point, the only one I trust anymore is my dog, Vesper. I picked him up from the shelter right after my fiance and my best friend gifted me a double betrayal wrapped in a pregnancy test. Vesper’s solid, loyal, no lies, no pretending.

 

 

 No side missions behind my back, just tail wags and real ones only. But before I tell you how he became my shadow, let me walk you through how I systematically dismantled the lives of the two people who thought they could ruin mine. I work at this logistics firm. I’ve been there about 8 years now. It’s a good job with decent pay, but the hours can be brutal.

 I’d been pulling doubles and extra shifts for months to save up for this wedding that my fianceé Justine, a 28-year-old female, had been planning since we got engaged. She hasn’t worked since CO hit, claiming she was focusing on healing and that getting a job would distract from the wedding vision. Whatever.

 I loved her, so I busted my ass 60 plus hours a week so she could have her dream venue and all that stuff. We lived in this decent apartment, two bedrooms, one bath in a complex that was built in the ’90s. The place had its issues. The dishwasher made this weird grinding noise.

 The neighbors above us apparently practiced river dancing at 2:00 in the morning, and the maintenance guys took their sweet time fixing anything, but it was affordable, close to my work, and Justine had decorated it with all this stuff from Target and HomeGoods to make it feel cozy. She was good at that kind of thing. I’ll give her that. Then summer rolled around, and not just any summer, the worst freaking heatwave I can remember.

 Day after day of 100 plus degree weather, our AC unit was old, probably original to the building, and it had been making this concerning rattle for months. I kept meaning to call maintenance about it, but between the extra shifts and Jine’s constant wedding planning, it slipped my mind until it finally gave up the ghost. It died completely.

 One minute, it was pumping out lukewarm air. The next, nothing. Just this sad little click in silence. Our apartment turned into a literal oven within hours. Sweat was dripping down the walls. It was so hot our plants were wilting and the chocolate bars in the pantry straight up melted.

 Even opening all the windows didn’t help because there was no breeze, just hot, stagnant air. Justine was miserable. She kept taking cold showers and lying on the kitchen floor because the tiles were slightly cooler. I wasn’t much better off coming home after a 12-hour shift in a warehouse with spotty AC to an apartment that was pushing 95° inside. It was torture.

 I called maintenance immediately, but they were swamped with similar calls all across the complex. Sorry, man. AC units are dropping like flies in this heat. We’ll get to you as soon as we can, the guy told me. 2 days later, the HVAC dude finally showed up, took one look at our unit, and said, “Yeah, the cooling coils completely shot.

 Parts are going to take 5 to 7 days minimum to come in.” Amazing. That night, I was bitching about it to my buddy Tyler, a 34year-old male over text. I’ve known this guy since college. I always thought he was solid. We played intramural sports together. He was my roommate in my junior and senior years.

 He was the best man at my brother’s wedding, that kind of thing. He usually hosted our fantasy football drafts and we’d grab beers and wings to watch games most Sundays during the season. Tyler had done well for himself, got into tech sales right out of college, married his girlfriend Rachel early on, and bought a nice house in the suburbs.

 Rachel’s a pediatric nurse, a super sweet lady, always bringing homemade cookies to gatherings and asking about everyone’s families. I always thought they had a good marriage, but I guess you never really know people, right? So, I’m texting Tyler about our AC nightmare, and he calls me right away. Bro, you guys can crash at my place till it’s fixed. Got central air, guest rooms all set up.

 Rachel’s visiting her folks in Michigan for the week anyway. Some family reunion thing. I wasn’t feeling it. I hate imposing on people. It makes me feel like a mooch. Plus, Tyler and I were close, but we’d never been stay at each other’s houses for a week close, you know. Thanks, man. But we can probably just get a cheap hotel or something.

 In this heat, every hotel in the city was booked solid with people in the same situation. Seriously, the guest room is just sitting empty. Rachel already made up the bed before she left because her sister was supposed to visit, but she canled. It’s all ready to go. I was still hesitant, but when I mentioned it to Justine, she was all over it.

 Tyler’s house with the pool and the big kitchen. Hell yes, it’ll be fun, like a little vacation. Plus, you can actually sleep between your shifts instead of lying in a puddle of your own sweat. She had a point. I was already exhausted from the overtime, and the thought of trying to sleep in 90 plus degree heat for a week wasn’t exactly appealing.

 Plus, hotel rates were through the roof with the heatwave, so we packed some bags and headed over. Tyler’s place was nice. A two-story house with a finished basement, central air blasting, heaven compared to our apartment. He showed us to the guest room. A king-size bed, attached bathroom, the works. Mikasa is Sucasa, Tyler said, giving us the grand tour.

Fridge is stocked. Help yourselves to anything. Weefy password is on the fridge. Stay as long as you need. Looking back, I should have noticed how eager he was. There were signs, man. Little things. The way he kept emphasizing that Rachel was gone for the whole week. How he’d cleaned the house spotlessly before we arrived.

 The new sheets on the guest bed. But I was too tired, too trusting. The first couple of days were normal enough. I’d leave for work at like 5:00 in the morning, get home around 8:00 or 9 at night. Justine and Tyler would usually be in the living room watching some show or just chatting. Nothing seemed off. Tyler was bringing home takeout for them.

 Justine was helping keep the place clean. It seemed like a decent arrangement. Tyler had this huge smart TV in the living room with every streaming service known to man. Justine was in heaven. At our place, we just had basic cable and Netflix. She kept talking about all the shows she was catching up on.

 Tyler showed me this awesome series on HBO, she’d say. Or Tyler and I started watching this documentary about cults. Always Tyler this, Tyler that. I didn’t think much of it at the time. They were stuck in the house together all day. Of course, they’d be watching TV. Justine also seemed really into using Tyler’s kitchen. She was never much of a cook at our place.

 We mostly did take out or simple stuff like pasta. But suddenly, she was experimenting with all these recipes. Tyler showed me how to make his mom’s famous lasagna,” she’d tell me proudly. Again, I didn’t think much of it, just glad they were getting along and she wasn’t bored. By day three, though, I noticed something weird.

 Tyler suddenly became the world’s biggest homebody. This dude used to hit the gym every morning without fail. Played in a weekend soccer league and always had stuff going on. He was constantly posting on Instagram from restaurants, bars, and a golf course. But now he’s working from home every single day, never leaving the house, not even to grab the mail.

 I thought it was strange, but figured maybe he was just being a good host or something. Didn’t want to leave Justine alone in his house all day. Made sense, right? There were other things, too. Small stuff. The way Justine would always be freshly showered when I got home. How Tyler would sometimes be awkward around me. Overly friendly one minute, then distant the next.

 How they had all these inside jokes after just a few days. I did notice Justine was dressing differently at Tyler’s house. At home, she usually lounged around in sweats and one of my old t-shirts, but at his place, she was always in these little shorts and tank tops. “It’s hot out,” she’d say if I mentioned it.

 “Yeah, it was hot, but his house was like 68° with the AC blasting.” By day four, I was itching to get out of there. I couldn’t really explain it. Just had this low-key pressure in my chest, like we were overstaying our welcome or throwing off the vibe. Also, something was nagging me to get out. I wasn’t comfortable.

 I called the HVAC company twice that day, practically begging them to move us up the list. I told Justine it was just me hating to impose, but the truth was my gut had already started whispering. Each time I called, they said, “Still waiting on the supplier.” Sir, the heat waves got everyone backed up. Meanwhile, I was working those doubles with a purpose.

 Justine had her heart set on this reception venue that needed a $5,000 deposit. one of those converted industrial spaces downtown with exposed brick and those hanging Edison bulbs everywhere. Very Instagram worthy, very expensive. I was going to surprise her with it. Had it all planned out. Would take her to dinner at this Italian place she liked. Tell her I secured the venue. Show her the receipt.

 I imagined how excited she’d be, how she’d probably cry and make a scene in the restaurant. Maybe post about it on social media with a million heart emojis. By the end of the week, we finally got word from the HVAC guy that our apartment was good to go, new cooling coil installed, system recharged, AC blasting beautiful cold air again.

 We packed up our stuff and as we were leaving, Justine gave Tyler this long hug, like way too long for a thanks for the hospitality kind of thing. It just felt off. On the drive home, I asked her straight up, “What was that about?” That hug was a bit much. She laughed it off and said, “He was just being nice. He let us stay. Don’t be weird about it. I let it go. tried to.

 I even gave the guy a limited edition watch I’d been holding on to, something meaningful, just to say thank you. Told him I appreciated the help. Anyway, life went back to normal, or what I thought was normal. Justine seemed a bit distant, but I figured she was just coming down from a week of vacation vibes, back to our regular apartment. She kept texting a lot, but that wasn’t unusual for her.

 Always on social media, always chatting with friends. Then she started taking a lot of shopping trips with her girlfriends, coming home with surprisingly few bags for someone who’d been out for hours. Again, I didn’t think too much about it. I was still working my ass off. Finally got that deposit money together and was going to surprise her that weekend.

 I had the whole thing planned. A reservation at Venenzo’s for Saturday night. Would dress up nice, bring her flowers, the whole nine yards. Then I’d give her an envelope with the venue confirmation and deposit receipt. It was going to be perfect. Then one random Tuesday, I’m at work unloading a truck in the warehouse and my phone buzzes.

 I don’t usually check it during shifts, but we were almost done with the truck and it could have been the boss with another assignment. So, I pulled it out. A text from Justine. I’m pregnant. It’s not yours. Five words that destroyed everything I thought I knew. I stared at my phone like it was glitching or something. Read it again and again. My brain couldn’t process what I was seeing.

 My coworker, Miguel, noticed something was wrong. You okay, man? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. I couldn’t even speak. Just showed him my phone. “Damn,” he whispered. “Dude, you got to go home. I’ll cover for you.” I called Justine straight to voicemail. Texted back, “What the hell does that mean?” Her response, “Come home. We need to talk.

” I told my supervisor I had an emergency and bounced. Miguel, a solid dude that he is, offered to finish my shift. I owe that guy a beer someday. The drive home was a blur. Hands shaking on the wheel the whole time. My mind was racing through possibilities. Who, when, how.

 I had that stupid naive thought that maybe there was some explanation, some misunderstanding, maybe she was joking, some sick prank. Deep down though, I already knew Tyler. It had to be. All those little weird moments suddenly made sense. I walked in and found Justine on the couch already crying before I even said a word. Her eyes were puffy and red, mascara running down her face. She looked like hell.

 “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” she whimpered. “Tyler, he forced himself on me. I didn’t know how to tell you. You’re the one who brought us there.” She said it like it was a defense, like I should have expected this, like she wasn’t the one who betrayed. You know how guys are around me, she continued, straightening up like she was about to deliver some universal truth.

 They get weird, obsessive, weak. You knew your friend always had a thing for me. You saw it. You brought me into his house and left me there all day, every day. What did you expect to happen? That was it. That was the moment it clicked. She wasn’t confessing.

 She was blaming me for her affair, for the pregnancy, for everything in our friend’s house while I was busting my ass working doubles to pay for her dream wedding. And by the way, I’ve never seen Tyler interested in her. He was literally married. You seriously think that’s a valid excuse? I said dead calm that you’re just so stunning, so dangerously irresistible that any man within 100 ft just turns into a drooling caveman.

 What are you, Angelina Jolie? Please. Her eyes didn’t even flinch. She believed it. every word. “You basically set me up,” she said, like I handed her a loaded gun and dared her to pull the trigger. “You knew how he looked at me. You just didn’t want to admit it.” I let out the smallest laugh. Cold, sharp. Right. So, you being faithful wasn’t your job. It was mine. Got it.

 I should have scheduled your loyalty between my double shifts, right? I stared at her for a second, the weight of it all sinking in, then said, “When?” Because at that point, I didn’t need another excuse. I needed the timeline. I needed to know how far back the rot went. How long I’d been sleeping next to a stranger.

 It happened the second day we were there, she said, still crying. You were at work, he just he came on to me so strong. I was scared. Something about her story wasn’t adding up. If it happened the second day and she was already confirming a pregnancy, the timing was off. Way off.

 It takes at least a couple of weeks to know you’re pregnant and we’d only been back from Tyler’s for like 10 days. So, you’re saying you knew back at Tyler’s house and you didn’t tell me then? She stuttered. I I wasn’t sure then. I just took a test today. Complete freaking nonsense. I didn’t say anything, just stared at her, watching her squirm, watching her lie fall apart. I’m going to ask you one time, I said. My voice scarily calm, even to my own ears. Is Tyler the only one? Her eyes widened.

What? Yes, it was just that one time. I swear more lies. I could feel it, but honestly, did it even matter at that point? one time, 10 times, whatever. She’d slept with my friend and was now pregnant with his kid, trying to blame me for it. “You’re saying he forced himself on you?” I asked. “That’s a serious accusation.” She hesitated.

 Just a fraction of a second. Well, he was really aggressive. And I didn’t want to upset him since we were staying in his house. Her story was already changing. First, it was forced, now it was aggressive. Red flags everywhere. So, you’re saying my friend of over 10 years, who’s never had so much as a parking ticket, assaulted you, and your response was to continue staying in his house, to watch TV with him every night, to cook with him, and laugh with him?” She buried her face in her hands. “You don’t understand. It’s complicated.” “No, it’s actually very simple,” I said.

“You’re lying.” Her head snapped up. “I’m not. Why would I lie about this?” “Because the truth is even worse. You weren’t assaulted. You had an affair. And now you’re pregnant. and you’re trying to make it my fault somehow. She started sobbing harder. That’s not true. I love you.

 Why would I throw everything away for Tyler? That’s what I’d like to know. She kept sobbing. I didn’t yell, didn’t throw stuff. I just walked out of the apartment and sat in my car for like 2 hours. Then I started calling vendors, cancelling everything for the wedding. Deposits be damned. There wasn’t going to be a wedding anymore. First, the venue. I’m sorry to inform you, we won’t be needing the space after all.

 Oh, I’m sorry to hear that, sir. May I ask the reason for cancellation? Change of plans. Understatement of the century. Then the caterer, the photographer, the DJ, the florist, one by one, systematically undoing all the plans we’d made. Some of them had cancellation fees. I didn’t care. The money was gone either way.

 And at least this way, I wouldn’t have to see their services being used for a wedding that was built on lies. The whole time I was making these calls, Justine was blowing up my phone with texts and calls. I ignored all of them, turned my phone on silent, and kept going down the list. When I finally went back inside, Justine was still on the couch, like she hadn’t moved.

 Her makeup was completely ruined now. Black streaks down her face, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She looked up at me with this weird, hopeful expression, like maybe I’d forgiven her. Like maybe I decided to raise my friend’s kid and pretend everything was fine. I’m going to stay at a hotel tonight, I said. You should figure out where you’re going to live.

 What? She gasped. You’re kicking me out, Dylan. Please, we can work through this. There’s no we anymore. There’s you. There’s your baby. And there’s Tyler. I’m out. But I love you. She wailed. It was a mistake. Tyler took advantage of me. I just looked at her. Pack your stuff. I want you gone by the weekend. You can’t do this. We’re engaged.

 This is my home, too. Actually, it’s not. Your name isn’t on the lease. You don’t pay rent. You’re essentially a guest here, and I’m telling you it’s time to leave. Where am I supposed to go? I don’t have any money. And whose fault was that? She’d been perfectly capable of working for the past 2 years, but chose not to.

 Now that was my problem somehow. I suggest you call your parents or one of your friends. Or hey, maybe Tyler will take you in. He seems to like having you around. She started crying again. You’re being so cruel. This isn’t like you. You’re right. It’s not like me.

 But finding out my fianceé cheated on me with my friend and is now pregnant with his kid isn’t like you either. Or at least I didn’t think it was. Guess we were both wrong about each other. I grabbed some clothes, my laptop, and my toiletries, and headed for the door. Don’t change the locks while I’m gone, I warned her. I’ll be back tomorrow to check on things. So, that’s it, she sobbed.

 You’re just throwing away 3 years over one mistake. I turned back to look at her. Hell yeah. Then I left. I spent the night in a Holiday Inn. Couldn’t sleep much. Kept replaying everything in my head, looking for signs I might have missed. There were plenty now that I knew what to look for. the freshly showered thing, the inside jokes, the whispering in the kitchen. All of it pointed to one thing, and I’d been too blind to see it.

 The next day, after a shitty night in that cheap hotel, I confronted Tyler. I caught him coming out of his house as I was waiting in my car across the street. I walked right up to him, calm as hell. Justine’s pregnant. She says, “It’s yours. Congratulations.” His face did this weird thing.

 Not shock, not shame, just annoyance, like I’d interrupted his day with some nonsense. You needed a place to stay and I let you crash at my house and now you’re throwing this at me. Seriously, zero shame. Did you force yourself on her? I asked already knowing the answer deep down. He scoffed. Is that what she told you? Man, you should ask yourself why she’d make up such crazy stuff.

 So, you’re denying you slept with her? I pressed. For the first time, he seemed at a loss for words. Look, she came on to me. All right. What was I supposed to do? I don’t know, Tyler. Maybe not sleep with your friend’s fianceé. Maybe that. It wasn’t like that. We were just hanging out, watching a movie.

 She was wearing those little shorts she always wears, sitting real close to me. One thing led to another. I clenched my fists, fighting the urge to punch him in his stupid face. One thing led to another. That’s your excuse. You don’t accidentally fall into your best friend’s fiance. Keep your voice down. He hissed, looking around at the neighbors houses.

 Look, I’m sorry, okay? It was a mistake, but she’s making it sound like I’m some kind of predator, and that’s nonsense. She was all over me the whole week you guys stayed here. The whole week, huh? Not just one time like she claimed. Tyler’s eyes widened slightly. He realized he’d said too much. I just meant, you know, flirting and stuff. Save it.

 You’re dead to me. I walked away before I did something that would land me in jail. I went home and started packing Justine stuff into boxes. All her clothes, her makeup, her books, her little decorative pillows and candles and all that crap. I wasn’t rough with her things. didn’t break anything or throw stuff around.

 Just methodically packed everything that was hers and stacked the boxes by the front door. I sent her a text. Your belongings will be on the porch Saturday. You have 1 hour. After that, I’m done. The response was immediate. First begging, “Please don’t do this. I love you. We can work through this.” Then blaming, “This is so unfair.

 You’re punishing me for one mistake when Tyler is equally responsible.” Then threatening, “I’ll call the police if you put my stuff outside. You can’t just throw me out.” Then playing victim again. and I have nowhere to go. I have no money. What am I supposed to do? I blocked her number and continued packing.

 When Saturday came, I put her boxes on the porch, then went to a coffee shop down the street. I didn’t want to see her. Didn’t want another confrontation. Another round of tears and accusations. When I came back, the boxes were gone. She’d left her key in the mailbox. At least she had that much decency. That night, I changed the locks anyway, just in case. Then I threw myself onto the couch. Lights off.

 No TV, just silence. And it hit me harder than I expected. It didn’t feel like justice. It felt like standing in the middle of wreckage I didn’t cause. Wondering where to even start. I kept replaying everything. Every glance, every joke, that hug. My head was spinning with questions.

 How did I miss it? How long had it been going on? And yeah, I started blaming myself. Maybe if I hadn’t taken Tyler up on his offer. Maybe if I just stuck it out in that oven of an apartment, maybe none of this would have happened. Then exactly one week later, I got a call from Rachel, Tyler’s wife. I hadn’t talked to her since before all this went down.

 I found the messages, she said, voice flat, screenshots, pictures. She wasn’t forced. It was mutual. They’ve been texting since the third day you stayed here. My stomach dropped, not because I was surprised, but because having my suspicions confirmed still hurt like a slap. Rachel kept talking. They were planning meetups, times when you’d be at work.

 She sent him pictures from your bathroom while you were sleeping. I felt sick, physically sick. Had to sit down. When did it start? The actual, you know, Rachel’s voice was hollow. From what I can gather from the texts, the second night you were there. After you fell asleep on the couch, Tyler carried you to the guest room. And then, yeah.

 So, while I was passed out from exhaustion, working overtime to pay for our wedding, my fianceé was sleeping with my friend in his house, probably giggling about how deep I was sleeping. “How did you find out?” I asked. He’s been acting weird since you guys stayed here, she said. Distant, checking his phone all the time. I had a feeling something was up, so I checked his iPad.

 All his texts sync to it. That’s where I found everything. I’m sorry, Rachel. Not your fault, she said. You got screwed over as much as I did. I’m filing for divorce, she continued. Might sue for marital misconduct, too. Just thought you should know the truth. I thanked her and hung up. That night, something changed in me.

The numbness wore off and this cold, calculating anger took its place. They destroyed my life, my trust, my future, and for what? A few cheap thrills? Well, they were going to pay for it, both of them. I started with information gathering. Rachel was a gold mine. She was hurt and angry and more than willing to help me expose Tyler’s nonsense.

 She forwarded me all the screenshots of their texts, the pictures Justine had sent him, everything. It was disgusting to see, but necessary for what I had planned. The texts were eyeopening. Not just the explicit stuff, but the casual way they talked about deceiving me. The inside jokes about how oblivious I was.

 How Justine complained about me working too much while simultaneously spending the money I earned. How Tyler promised to take care of her once they figured out how to break the news to me and Rachel. They had actually been plotting to tell us after the wedding, “Let me pay for this huge celebration, then dropped the bomb that she was leaving me for Tyler.

” The pregnancy just accelerated their timeline, forced their hand. Tyler worked at this tech startup, a fancy place with a reputation first culture, very image conscious. I knew his boss. I had met him at a company party once. A nice guy, family man, conservative type. I set up a new email address and carefully composed a message to Tyler’s boss.

 Attached were select screenshots of Tyler’s texts with Justine, specifically ones where he was bragging about cheating on his wife with his friend’s fianceé. I made sure to only include messages sent during work hours showing he was working from home but actually planning hookups. I believe your company values would not align with this kind of behavior I wrote.

 I thought you should be aware of the character of the man representing your organization. Sent that was phase one. Phase two was more direct. Thanks to Rachel, I knew Tyler had been hiding money from her. Had a separate bank account she didn’t know about. Was planning to use it to buy a vintage Porsche without telling her.

 shady stuff that would look real bad in divorce proceedings. Rachel’s lawyer was very interested in this information. I connected them, provided everything I knew. That secret account suddenly became exhibit A in their divorce case. For Justine, my approach was different. I didn’t want to destroy her life. She was doing a fine job of that herself.

 I just wanted her gone from mine. But there was one loose end, our shared friends. I knew Justine well enough to know she’d be spinning some nonsense story now that the wedding was cancelled about how I kicked her out when she was vulnerable. How I abandoned her when she got pregnant. I couldn’t let that stand.

 So, I created a private group chat with our six closest mutual friends. No dramatic accusations, just facts. Hey guys, I know Justine has probably reached out to some of you. Before you hear only her side, I thought you should know what actually happened. I laid it all out. the texts, the timeline, the pregnancy, the lies about being forced, the truth from Rachel.

 I didn’t ask them to pick sides. I didn’t have to. The evidence spoke for itself. Within days, I heard through the grapevine that Justine was complaining about how everyone abandoned her. Good actions have consequences. But I wasn’t done with Tyler yet. Not by a long shot. 2 weeks after I sent that email to Tyler’s boss, Rachel called me.

 Tyler got put on probation at work, she said. A hint of satisfaction in her voice. something about conduct unbecoming and misuse of work from home privileges. I pretended to be surprised. Really? That’s interesting timing. Yeah, he’s freaking out. Thinks I had something to do with it. Meanwhile, Justine’s little plan had backfired spectacularly.

 Tyler wanted nothing to do with her or the baby. Wouldn’t return her calls. Blocked her everywhere. Turns out he wasn’t interested in playing daddy. Big surprise. I found out through our mutual friend group that she was now frantically backpedaling, telling people maybe the baby was mine after all, trying to get back in touch with me. Too little, too late.

 Tyler’s problems were just beginning. His work probation meant he couldn’t work from home anymore. Had to be in the office 9 to5 everyday, closely monitored. His side hustle, some drop shipping business he ran during work hours, was now impossible to maintain. I heard his income took a serious hit. Then came the divorce proceedings. Rachel’s lawyer was brutal.

using the evidence of infidelity and the hidden bank account to go after everything. Tyler was looking at losing the house, half his retirement, and paying significant alimony. But I still wasn’t satisfied. This guy had been my friend for years.

 I’d trusted him, and he slept with my fianceé in his house while I was working to pay for a wedding that would never happen. He deserved more than just a divorce and work probation. So, I went nuclear. He had this dream of opening his own business someday. Had been talking about it for years. a sports bar with a unique concept.

 All the tables would have built-in beer taps where you could pour your own drinks and get charged by the ounce. It even secured some preliminary investors was in the process of finding a location. Those investors, one of them was my cousin’s husband. Small world, huh? So, I made sure my cousin’s husband got an anonymous email with all the details of Tyler’s character, how he cheated on his wife with his friend’s fianceé, how he lied and manipulated, how untrustworthy he was. Would you really want to go into business with someone like this? The email concluded.

The investment group pulled out a week later. Tyler’s dream dead in the water. Throughout all this, I maintained radio silence with both of them, blocked them everywhere, focused on rebuilding my life. I started hitting the gym regularly, adopted a rescue dog from the shelter, a big goofy lab mix named Vesper, who quickly became my best buddy. Rachel would call me sometimes with updates like we were part of some survivors club or something.

 She’s couch surfing at her friend Amber’s place, Rachel told me. Working part-time at a vape shop. She tried to get child support started, but Tyler demanded a paternity test. I mostly just listened. Felt detached from it all now, like I was hearing about characters in a TV show, not people who had once been central to my life.

 Tyler had to move into a studio apartment, Rachel said in another call. He’s telling everyone I screwed him over in the divorce playing the victim. Meanwhile, he can’t even get a date. Word got around about what he did. I wasn’t surprised. Our social circle wasn’t huge. Actions have consequences. Eventually, I started distancing myself from Rachel, too.

 Her updates, while initially satisfying, were keeping me tethered to a past I wanted to forget. I needed a clean break from all of it. The divorce was going through. Tyler was getting what he deserved, and Justine was facing the consequences of her actions. My work was done.

 The wedding fund I’d been saving, I used it to pay off my car, upgrade the HVAC system in my apartment with top-of-the-line stuff. Ironic, I know. And booked a solo trip to Iceland. Always wanted to see those northern lights. Figured I deserved a real vacation after all this mess. Vesper the dog turned out to be the best decision I’d made in years.

 Loyal, affectionate, always happy to see me when I got home from work. Never judging, never lying, never sneaking around behind my back. Just pure, simple companionship. We’d go on these long hikes on weekends, explore new trails, camp out under the stars. The kind of stuff I’d always wanted to do, but Justine was never into. Too many bugs, she’d say. Not enough bathrooms.

About 3 months after everything blew up, I ran into Justine at the grocery store. I turned the corner near the produce section, and there she was, squinting at avocados like one of them owed her money. She looked like hell, sweats, messy bun, dark circles under her eyes, and a baby bump she couldn’t guilt her way out of.

 She spotted me and lit up like a damn puppy. “Dylan,” she said, all breathless, like I was some longlost savior. I didn’t even slow down. I’ve been trying to reach you, she blurted, grabbing my arm. I didn’t flinch. I blocked you for a reason. That should have been the end. But she launched into full desperation mode. Tyler abandoned her. She had no one. She was sorry.

 She loved me. Blah blah. She even tried the old maybe the baby is yours. Hail Mary. I actually laughed in her face. You told me it wasn’t. Timing makes it impossible, but good try. Her eyes welled up like that would change something. It was a mistake, she said. And I hit her with it cold. No, what you did was a choice. A stack of them.

 Then I walked off and left my cart behind. I couldn’t finish shopping next to the ghost of that much betrayal. Later that night, a new number started texting me. It was her again. All caps rage, blaming me for everything. Said I ruined her life. Got Tyler fired. Turned our friends against her. And you know what? She wasn’t wrong.

 I did all that on purpose. And I do it again twice as hard if given the chance. Last I heard, Tyler’s unemployed and crashing in his parents’ basement. Justine’s back in her hometown working a vape shop counter with a kid Tyler won’t even claim. They wrecked their own lives. I just made sure the wreckage was public. Now I live in peace with Vesper.