I thought Ethan was my forever. He’d just proposed, and we were already planning our wedding. But everything changed the morning I saw five chilling words spray-painted on his car: “You picked the wrong guy, gave him the wrong finger.”
Ethan looked shocked—but something felt off. I checked our neighbor’s security camera and saw a hooded figure, unidentifiable, defacing the car. The message haunted me—too personal to be random.
That night, Ethan got a text from an unknown number: “Meet me tomorrow. We need to talk.” I followed him the next day. At the address, I saw him inside a house with another man. Their talk looked serious—not romantic—but something felt hidden.
When Ethan came home, he parked at my neighbor Jay’s house. I followed—and heard everything.
“You knew this wouldn’t last,” Ethan said. “You told me you loved me,” Jay replied.
“My family would never accept it. Rachel is… safe.”
I burst in. “You lied to me.” He begged for understanding. I walked away.
Later, Jay brought tea and an apology. I’d lost a fiancé, but I gained clarity, peace—and maybe even a new friend. Most of all, I found someone worth trusting: myself.
