The Thousand-Day Streak of Lies

Yi Xiaoxin

Modern | Completed

5.0

Comment(s)

5.7K

View

Chapters

For ten years, I believed my long-distance relationship with my architect boyfriend, Griffith, was unbreakable. I was building a successful career, convinced our love was the one constant I could count on. That illusion shattered the day I saw his phone. A thousand-day Snapchat streak wasn't with me. It was with his intern, a girl he called Kallie Sunshine. His apology was a cold, duty-bound marriage proposal, followed by him taking the fall for her career-ending mistake at his firm. In the middle of the chaotic company lobby, as he was sacrificing everything for her, she delivered the final blow. "I'm pregnant with his baby!" she shrieked, a triumphant smirk on her face. "And you're just a bitter old hag who couldn't keep her man!" Ten years of my life, my love, my future-all reduced to a humiliating public spectacle. He chose to protect his "little muse" while I was just collateral damage. I slapped his face, threw the ring at his feet, and walked away. This time, I wasn't just going back to my apartment. I was leaving the country for good.

Betrayal Pregnancy Rebirth Pregnancy Personal growth

Chapter 13

The day before yesterday 22:23

Chapter 1

That illusion shattered the day I saw his phone. A thousand-day Snapchat streak wasn't with me. It was with his intern, a girl he called Kallie Sunshine.

His apology was a cold, duty-bound marriage proposal, followed by him taking the fall for her career-ending mistake at his firm.

In the middle of the chaotic company lobby, as he was sacrificing everything for her, she delivered the final blow.

"I'm pregnant with his baby!" she shrieked, a triumphant smirk on her face. "And you're just a bitter old hag who couldn't keep her man!"

Ten years of my life, my love, my future-all reduced to a humiliating public spectacle. He chose to protect his "little muse" while I was just collateral damage.

I slapped his face, threw the ring at his feet, and walked away. This time, I wasn't just going back to my apartment. I was leaving the country for good.

Chapter 1

Cayla Cherry POV:

The world outside my window was a blur of gray rain and angry wind, mirroring the storm brewing inside me. My fingers trembled as they clutched the phone, the screen a cruel spotlight on the proof I never wanted to find. The "Snapchat streak" wasn't just a number; it was a thousand days of intimate moments I thought belonged to us, now shared with someone else, with Kallie.

Tears sprang to my eyes, hot and stinging. They weren' t soft tears; they were sharp, like tiny cuts. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the images were burned behind my eyelids: Griffith' s phone, unlocked on the kitchen counter, the contact named Kallie Sunshine glowing like a malicious beacon, and the work laptop he'd forgotten open, filled with messages that twisted my stomach.

I tried to stand, tried to walk away from the cold hard truth staring me in the face, but my legs felt like jelly. My knees buckled, and I sank to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself. I wanted to scream, but no sound came out. The pain was a physical weight, pressing down on my chest until it was hard to breathe. I hated him. I hated her. But beneath it all, a more dangerous emotion simmered: I hated myself for being so blind.

He' d been different, subtly at first. Little things. A new cologne, an unexplained late night, a quick glance at his phone when it buzzed. I' d dismissed them, rationalized them with the distance between us, the stress of his demanding job. Foolish, so foolish.

The sudden click of the front door jolted me. Griffith. My heart leaped, then plunged. He was here. He was always here, wasn't he? Or at least, he used to be.

"Cayla? You're home. Why are you on the floor?" His voice was that familiar blend of concern and casual command, the one that had always made me feel safe. Now it just sounded alien.

He was beside me in an instant, his hand on my arm, trying to pull me up. "You look pale. What's wrong?"

"Don't touch me," I choked out, swatting his hand away. The words were a whisper, but they felt like a roar.

"What's gotten into you? Come on, let's get you off this cold floor." He didn't ask, he stated. He always knew what was best for me, or so I thought. He scooped me up, carrying me as if I weighed nothing, just like he used to when I had a bad day. My body felt like a puppet, unresponsive to my will.

He carried me into the living room, placing me gently on the sofa. "You're too emotional, Cayla. Always have been. You need to calm down." He said it so easily, as if my feelings were a switch he could flip.

Then I saw it. On the coffee table, nestled beside his usual stack of architectural magazines, was a delicate, handcrafted ceramic mug. It wasn't mine. It was too small, too dainty. And it was exactly the kind of thing Kallie, his intern, would use. My stomach churned.

"Whose mug is that?" I asked, my voice barely a tremor.

He followed my gaze. A flicker of something, guilt or annoyance, crossed his face. "Oh, that? Kallie left it. She was here, helping me with a project."

"Helping you with a project," I repeated, the words tasting like ash.

A sudden wave of nausea hit me. My head throbbed, and the room spun. My body was betraying me, just like he had.

Just then, his phone buzzed. A distinct, high-pitched bird song. It was the custom ringtone he only used for one person. Kallie.

He glanced at it, a hurried movement, and stuffed the phone into his pocket. "I need to take this. Work thing." He stood up, avoiding my gaze.

He left the room, his footsteps receding down the hall. I was alone again, left with the bitter taste of his lies.

My eyes fell on his laptop again, still open. My heart hammered against my ribs. I knew I shouldn't, but I couldn't stop myself. My fingers, still shaking, typed in his password. It was our anniversary date. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Even that was a lie.

I clicked on his work email, then scanned the recent chats. There it was. A conversation with Kallie. Pages and pages of it. Heart emojis, late-night confessions, inside jokes. Words he used to say to me. Pet names, whispered affections. He called her "my little muse." My "little muse" while I was thousands of miles away, building a career I thought we would share.

I scrolled further, past the professional pleasantries, past the project updates, to the truly damning messages. Dates and times that coincided with his "late nights at the office," his "client meetings." He hadn't been working. He'd been with her.

One message stood out, a particular sting. "I miss you, my sunshine. This place feels empty without you." It was sent last week, on a day he told me he was "too swamped" to call. 'Sunshine.' Just like the contact name on his phone. He had given her a nickname, a special place in his digital world, while I was just... Cayla.

My breath hitched. My vision blurred. How could I have been so foolish? How could I have missed it? All the subtle shifts, the emotional withdrawals, the excuses for not visiting. They weren't just signs of a strained long-distance relationship; they were breadcrumbs leading to this. Leading to her.

My stomach heaved. The nausea was overwhelming. I stumbled to the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before I violently emptied my stomach. It felt like I was expelling ten years of my life, ten years of misplaced trust and love, into the porcelain bowl.

I heard his footsteps returning, his voice calling my name, laced with a new urgency. "Cayla? What's going on?"

He appeared in the doorway, a small, brightly wrapped gift box in his hand. It was for Kallie, I knew it instinctively. He' d probably forgotten it when he rushed out. The sight of it, a small token of affection meant for her, pushed me over the edge.

My world went black. The last thing I felt was the floor rushing up to meet me, and then his arms, catching me just before I hit the cold tiles.