No Second Chances for my Cheating Boyfriend

After graduation, my boyfriend pursued a degree in counseling and was paired with a female teacher. Together, they managed students, conducted research, and even shared accommodations during work trips.

When I expressed my concerns, he dismissed them, insisting they were just colleagues and asking me not to "overthink things."

One day, I saw her tag him on Instagram with the popular caption: Meal partner: XXX. Shortly after, she sent me a private message, taunting me:

"How can you keep up with him without a job?"

A month after we broke up and blocked each other, news came that both of them had been dismissed from the college.

Meanwhile, I passed the talent introduction exam. On my first day at the court, my boss—who also happened to be my childhood sweetheart—smiled warmly at me and asked,

"Will you be my girlfriend?"

...

James’ phone screen lit up for the fifth time in twenty minutes, casting a faint glow in the dim cinema. Seated beside him, I couldn’t help but notice how little attention he paid to the movie, his focus shifting constantly to the device in his hand.

Frustrated, I leaned over and whispered, "What's going on?"

"Nothing," he replied, slipping the phone back into his pocket.

But when it buzzed again—this time with a call—I had enough. My mood was ruined. Without a word, I grabbed my bag and left the theater.

As I walked out of the theater, James quickly caught up with me, a frown creasing his face.

"You were watching just fine. What happened to you?"

"Who called you?" I asked bluntly.

"Ella Hughes," he admitted, confirming exactly what I had guessed—his coworker.

"Why is she calling you on the weekend?"

"Maybe it’s something about work," he replied, his tone measured.

When I didn’t respond, his patience seemed to wane. With a sigh of exasperation, he said, "If you don’t believe me, I’ll call her back."

Before I could protest, he dialed her number, putting the call on speaker as if to prove his innocence.

"Mr. Carter, there’s an issue with a student’s internship file," Ella’s voice came through the phone, clipped and professional. "Could you come back to school now? It’s urgent.

"Of course, if it’s inconvenient, I can handle it alone. But, James, you know as well as I do—work is more important than anything else."

The call ended abruptly, leaving James staring at me, his expression unreadable.

"See?" he said, his voice calm but tinged with frustration. "I told you it was about work. You got angry for nothing. Are you satisfied now?"

I looked at him, his steady gaze challenging me to doubt him further. It was true—he had never hidden anything about his dealings with Ella. He was always transparent, almost to a fault.

But still, a question lingered in my mind: Can you truly claim a clear conscience if you don’t even try to draw boundaries?

Ever since James started working, our opportunities to meet have dwindled, a casualty of our long-distance relationship. Meanwhile, the person who spends the most time with him every day is Ella.

The first time I met her was when I accompanied James to his new workplace. She approached him with a stack of documents, her smile bright and confident. When she noticed me, her tone turned sweet.

"This is Mr. Carter's girlfriend? You're so beautiful. Mr. Carter is really lucky."

At the time, I thought nothing of it. But as the days turned into weeks, Ella became a constant presence in his life. They worked overtime together, conducted research side by side, and even traveled for business.

I’ve seen her call him at two in the morning. I’ve seen her hold his hand with an intimacy far beyond what one might expect from colleagues, acting coquettishly as if there was no one else in the room.

It made me deeply uncomfortable, this familiarity that blurred professional boundaries. But James never seemed to think there was anything wrong.

When I voiced my concerns, he dismissed them outright, his tone tinged with frustration.

"I teach with Ms. Hughes. We have a lot to handle every day. You can’t keep projecting your suspicions onto me just because you’re overly sensitive."

His words stung, each one a blade that chipped away at my resolve. I stood there, silent, his voice dragging me back to the present.

"Am I sensitive?" I asked, my voice shaking with disbelief and hurt.

He sighed, pulling me into his arms, his tone softening as if to soothe me.

"Okay, okay. I’m not as free as I was during school, and I don’t have as much time to coax you anymore. Be good, alright?"