My cozy one-bedroom apartment was supposed to be the start of my dream life with Ryan. But one pizza delivery changed everything.
Ryan and I always ordered from the same pizzeria—double pepperoni, extra cheese. That Saturday, while going through the wedding guest list, I decided to treat myself. When Anthony, our usual delivery guy, arrived, he hesitated before handing me the box. “Your fiancé isn’t home?” he asked. Odd question, but I answered. “Business trip.”

When I opened the box, my stomach dropped. Scrawled inside: “HE IS NOT WHO YOU THINK HE IS. CHECK YOUR DOOR CAMERA.”
My hands shook as I pulled up the footage. At first, nothing—then, a tall, elegant woman arrived with wine. Ryan opened the door, hugged her, and let her in.
The next day, I confronted him. He didn’t deny it. “I was overwhelmed,” he shrugged. That was all I needed to hear.
Days later, I visited the pizzeria. “Thank you,” I told Anthony. He sighed. “You deserved to know.”
I left Ryan. It hurt, but I healed. The only thing I miss? That tiny apartment.