“Evening, Emily. Jake’s not here tonight?” Tom inquired, his voice wavering slightly.
“Just me tonight,” I replied, attempting to sound upbeat. Tom nodded and hurriedly turned to leave—perhaps too hastily.
As I closed the door, his behavior left me unsettled. Was he alright? Brushing aside my concerns, I brought the warm box to the kitchen. The familiar scent of garlic and tomato sauce enveloped me, usually a comforting embrace.
But as I opened the box, my heart skipped a beat. There, scrawled across the inside lid of the box with a black Sharpie, was a message that read, “He is not who you think. Check your door camera.”
The pizza suddenly seemed unappetizing as a cold wave of dread washed over me. My hands trembled as I set the box down, the cheerful buzz of the apartment now swallowed by a looming silence. What was I about to find on that camera?
My fingers fumbled as I activated the tablet controlling our door camera. The ominous message from the pizza box had set my nerves on edge, making every moment until the app opened feel endless. I scrolled through the camera’s recorded history, each swipe intensifying the suspense.
Then, it appeared.
There was Jake, my Jake, welcoming a woman at our doorstep. She wasn’t just any woman—she was laughing, handing him a bottle of wine. My heart plummeted. I kept scrolling. On different days, different women appeared, one even bringing a stack of movies.
Every time I was away, it seemed, Jake had company. Different women, each visit documented clearly by the camera he had installed, ironically, for our safety.
