Jessica and I had always been close, more like family than friends. But everything shifted when she married Mark. From the moment I met him, something felt off. He was all charm on the surface, but his cold eyes didn’t match his smile. I never trusted him, and I think he sensed that.
One spring afternoon, we were sitting on Jessica’s porch like we used to. Her cat, Taco, basked in the sun. Jessica asked me to house-sit while she was in New York for work—feed the cat, water the plants, and bring in the mail. When I asked about Mark’s plans, she sighed and said, “It’s not his thing.” Apparently, taking care of the cat was beneath him.
I couldn’t hide my frustration, and she accused me of being jealous because I was single. That stung, but I agreed to help—not for him, but for her.
The day she left, I went over to the house. Everything seemed too perfect. I fed Taco and watered the plants, then I heard it—laughter. A woman’s voice. I crept upstairs and peeked through a crack in the bedroom door. There was Mark, shirt unbuttoned, lounging with a woman in Jessica’s robe, drinking from her favorite glass.
“I told you she signed without reading it,” Mark said. “She thinks it’s refinancing. By Friday, the house is mine.”
I froze. He’d tricked Jessica into signing away her house. He planned to sell it, move to Miami, and take everything—even the cat.
I ran out and called Jessica. “Mark’s cheating, and he’s stealing your house.”
Her response? “You’re lying.” She accused me of being jealous and trying to ruin her marriage before hanging up.
That evening, Mark showed up at my door, calm and smug. He warned me to back off. “Someone’s going to get hurt,” he said.
I knew words alone wouldn’t convince Jessica—she needed proof. So I did something drastic. Using a fake call app, I texted her saying I’d been in a car accident. I hated deceiving her, but it worked. She showed up, pale and frantic.
When she realized I was fine, she was furious. “Why would you do that?” she yelled.
“Because you wouldn’t listen,” I said. “You needed to see it for yourself.”
We went to her house and peered through the window. Mark and the woman were on the couch, laughing as if it were their home. Boxes lined the hallway, with Jessica’s things labeled “JUNK, DONATE, TRASH.”
Jessica went inside, unleashing all her anger. She confronted Mark, kicked him and the woman out. He tried to blame me. “She poisoned your mind,” he said, but Jessica shut him down. “No, Mark. You did that yourself.”
Later, when we were alone, I asked, “You’re so calm.”
“I already knew,” she said. “I just needed to see it. And I needed you to act normal. You did.”
I thought she might’ve used me, but she shook her head. “I trusted you. Even when I pretended not to.”
She smiled, looking around at her half-packed home. “Let’s clean up. I’ve got a life to rebuild.”
And I knew then that whatever came next, she wouldn’t face it alone.
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