The following morning, while Alex was in the shower, I took a moment to check the messages on our shared tablet. It was a small breach of trust, but my curiosity was fueled by an unfamiliar restlessness. There, among the usual exchanges with friends and family, was a message thread with a name I didn’t recognize: Jordan. The conversation seemed innocuous enough at first glance—discussions about old times, jokes, and compliments. But it was the tone, the familiarity, that set my nerves on edge.
“Jordan,” I murmured to myself, the name rolling off my tongue like a foreign word. It was clear that Jordan was someone from Alex’s past, someone significant enough to warrant late-night conversations. I hesitated, then took a screenshot of the messages, feeling both guilty and justified. I needed evidence, something concrete to confront Alex with should the need arise.
As the days passed, I began noticing other discrepancies, small details that seemed innocuous but collectively painted a troubling picture. Alex was increasingly evasive, offering vague explanations for absences and appearing distracted even during family time. The balance of our relationship shifted subtly, with Alex holding the cards, leaving me to guess the rules of this unspoken game.
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