A Plot Twist No One Ordered

 


There was a lot of yelling—roughly 99% mine, which honestly should’ve shattered some glass—but when you walk in on an infidelity horror show that feels specifically choreographed to ruin your life, you don’t exactly whisper.

Let’s set the scene: my car is packed like a refugee convoy, loaded with every last remnant of my hopeful, blissfully unaware past. I’m carrying something—maybe a box labelled “our future”, maybe my last shred of dignity—and just as I step inside, there it is. The betrayal. Live. In action. No commercial breaks.

He wasn’t just cheating—no, no—he was staging a performance. The timing? Impeccable. The audacity? Off the charts. And of all the choices in the universe, he chose her—his ex, a woman with whom history had already proven that love could not, would not, and should not thrive. Yet there they were, reigniting the dumpster fire, with me as the unwilling witness to their second act of self-destruction.

Now, listen—I’m not here to critique his terrible life choices (well, actually, I am). But maybe—just maybe—he could’ve given me a heads-up before I relocated my entire existence. Perhaps a casual text? A courtesy email? A skywritten warning above my old apartment saying, “DO NOT MOVE OUT, EVERYTHING IS A LIE”?

Instead, he let me pack up my life, leave my home, and walk straight into a scene so chaotic it deserves its own true crime documentary. So congratulations to them both. May they enjoy their two-month doom spiral, knowing they’ve successfully secured a lifetime spot on my personal blacklist.


What would you have done?  Care to share drop an email to dpisafox@gmail.com

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