Crawling Back to the Woman He Ruined

I lay sprawled on the cold wooden floor, my body trembling as silent sobs wracked through me. My phone lay beside me, the screen still glowing with the last message I had sent three days ago.

[Take care on your business trip, love. Let me know when you'll go home and I'll prepare good food for you. I have something to tell you as well. I hope it will excite you to go back home. See you!]

Three days. Not a single response.

Today was my birthday, and yet, there was nothing—not even a single word from the man who once promised me forever. I wanted to believe he was just busy, that maybe he'd planned a surprise, but deep down, I knew. The truth had been in front of me for so long, and I had refused to see it.

I turned my gaze toward the scattered documents and plane tickets littering the floor, each one a dagger piercing through my heart. My hands shook as I picked one up, my vision blurring with tears. Printed in bold letters were the names: Jake Windsor and Kourtney Peters. I sifted through more tickets, my breaths growing shallower with each discovery. Jake had been flying to Westford City countless times. The same city where Kourtney, his first love, lived. And it wasn’t just Westford—some of these tickets showed their names side by side, traveling together to different places, while I had been alone, waiting for him to come home.

Five years.

They had been betraying me for five years.

My grip on the ticket tightened until the paper crumpled in my fist. My heart pounded violently against my ribs, an ache so deep it left me breathless. I wanted to scream, to throw everything, to break something—anything. But all I could do was cry.

Then my gaze landed on another ticket, the date striking me like a slap to the face.

Four years ago.

Westford City to Stanton City.

Kourtney Peters.

That was the same date when I had donated my kidney.

A hollow laugh bubbled past my lips, the sound foreign even to my own ears. I had trusted Jake blindly, given him everything. When he begged me to help his so-called cousin, I never once questioned it. I had gone through the pain, the surgery, the recovery—all for a person I never met. And now, everything made sense.

It wasn’t his cousin.

It was her. Kourtney.

I gritted my teeth, my fingers curling into my palms so tightly my nails dug into my skin. My mind raced back to what my brother, Aaron, had once mentioned in passing—something about Kourtney having a serious illness before she left. He never said what it was, only that her family had taken her away for treatment.

And now, I knew the truth.

Jake had lured me in, played with my heart, just to save the woman he truly loved.

A fresh wave of agony crashed over me as I frantically picked up more tickets, more receipts, more proof of my own stupidity. Some of them were dated on birthdays. Anniversaries. Christmas. Valentine’s Day.

And then, I saw another date that sent my stomach lurching.

The day I lost my baby.

A sharp, painful gasp tore through my throat as I collapsed onto the floor again. I had called him that day, begged him to come home because I was in unbearable pain. I had needed him. And when the doctor asked me whether I wanted to continue with the pregnancy despite the risks, I had prayed that Jake would be by my side to help me decide.

But he never came.

Instead, he had been with her.

While I was alone, losing a part of myself, he was with Kourtney. Celebrating. Loving her. Making love to her.

Bile rose in my throat. I wanted to vomit, to rid myself of every trace of him, but nothing would ever be enough to erase the scars he had left on me.

Rage, betrayal, and heartbreak twisted inside me, forming a storm so violent I could barely breathe. I had given Jake everything—my love, my trust, my body, my money, even my future. And in return, he had destroyed me.

My hands trembled as I reached for my phone. My vision was hazy, my thoughts clouded with rage and devastation, but my body moved on its own. I dialed his number, my heart hammering against my ribs as I waited for him to pick up.

One ring.

Two.

Three.

Then, the call connected.

But before I could say a word, a soft moan echoed in the background.

I froze.

Another moan. A feminine one.

A choked sob lodged in my throat as realization crashed down on me.

They weren’t just together. They were in bed.

Another whimper. Then a giggle.

"Jake..." Kourtney’s voice was unmistakable.

I slapped a hand over my mouth, tears streaming down my face as I bit back a scream.

Then, I heard Jake’s voice again.

"You like that, don’t you, Kourt?" he murmured, his tone dripping with affection. The affection I had once thought was mine.

Kourtney moaned louder this time. "Mmm… yes, Jake. Just like that."

The sound of rustling sheets. The sharp intake of his breath. The husky chuckle that sent bile crawling up my throat.

Then, Kourtney’s breathy whisper. "Harder, baby. Make me forget she even exists."

My heart shattered into a million jagged pieces.

Jake groaned. "Anything for you."

I should have hung up. I should have ended the call and thrown my phone across the room. But I didn’t.

I kept listening.

As if I needed to hear just how much he had never loved me. As if I wanted the pain to consume me whole.

"Oh, Jake..." Kourtney moaned his name again, her voice dripping with satisfaction. The mattress creaked, their movements becoming more frantic. Jake’s low groan mixed with her breathless giggles, their pleasure echoing in my ears like a death sentence.

My body shook violently, my breath coming out in ragged gasps. The sobs were silent now, my grief too deep for sound.

Then, I heard Jake’s voice again, softer this time. "You’re the only woman I’ve ever loved."

A jagged, broken exhale left my lips.

I clutched my phone tighter, my knuckles turning white, my entire body rigid with the force of my despair.

But I didn’t look away. I didn’t stop listening. My hand trembled as I muted my microphone — not because I was afraid, but because the fury inside me was too raw, too dangerous to be heard.

And then, with my voice low and broken, every word dripping with hatred and pain, I whispered, "Happy Birthday, Avril. What a perfect gift your boyfriend’s given you — the truth."