It started like any other cozy night.
A movie on. Takeout on the way. My boyfriend curled into my couch like he lived there.
Then his phone lit up.
One short message, right on the lock screen, like it wanted to be seen.
“Is that whale still talking?”
I remember staring at it, trying to translate it into something harmless.
Maybe a weird inside joke. Maybe a meme. Maybe a conversation I wasn’t part of.
Then he bolted for the bathroom… and left the screen unlocked.
That’s when I did the one thing I never thought I’d do.
I looked.
The Group Chat Name Told Me Enough
The chat was called The Boyz.
Four names. Months of messages. A timeline.
And the first thing I saw wasn’t a joke.
It was a voice note.
My voice.
I hit play with my hand shaking, and the room went cold.
It was me—excited, talking about work, rambling in the way you do when you feel safe.
Under it, his caption:
“This pig won’t shut up. Someone please kill me.”
I didn’t feel sad.
Sadness collapses.
This was hard and clean and sharp—like something in me snapping into place.
I scrolled.
And scrolled.
It wasn’t one bad message.
It was a collection.
A library.
A hobby.
Read more on the next page ⬇️⬇️⬇️
