Six Years A Shadow Behind His Second Phone

The New Year’s Eve I decided to move across the country to Minneapolis, my mother chased me out of the house with a broom. “That boy has nothing! You’ll starve with him. If you go, I will disown you!” she shrieked. For six years in that frozen city, Jake Harrison had swallowed all the hardship on his own. With hands permanently calloused and chapped from the cold, he built us a home. It was New Year’s Eve again, and I was digging through a plate of cream stew, searching for the one I’d marked—the one hiding the custom engagement ring I’d bought—when the police called. They said my boyfriend was involved in a serious brawl and I needed to come to the precinct. I rushed over through the snow, bowing and apologizing until my back ached. As I signed the papers to take him home, I saw him. Jake smelled of cheap whiskey, his face was bruised purple, and a young woman was clutching the hem of his jacket, her face a mask of tear-streaked sorrow. “Jake, thank you for sticking up for me. My ex is abusive and he’ll never stop harassing me. My son and I… we can’t hold on much longer.” “Mike loves the cream stew you make. He waits every day for ‘Daddy Jake’ to come play with him. Jake, please, give us a family.” In an instant, all my carefully managed composure snapped. I hurled my phone against the wall. Right there, inside the precinct, Jake and I had the most vicious fight of our relationship. I was hysterical, accusing him of treason. He yelled back, calling me selfish and heartless. He eventually backed down, promising to move his coworker, Scarlett, to another team and cut all ties. After that night, Jake never spoke of Scarlett again. Their chat history showed only essential work-related messages. Until I found his second phone. They hadn’t cut ties. They’d simply moved their relationship from the open, visible space to a hidden, private system where I couldn’t see. He’d switched from his main account to a private one filled with well-wishing friends and family, where every photo of him with Scarlett and her son, Mike, received genuine blessings. I scrolled to the messages from that New Year’s Eve. Scarlett: I found the ring in the cream stew. Was your girlfriend planning to propose? Should I bring it back to you? Jake: No. Just pretend you didn’t see it. I’m not ready for marriage right now. He got his wish. After six years away, it was time for me to go home.

1 Jake was bustling around the kitchen. “Jenny, I’ve reheated dinner a few times, so the taste might not be great,” he said, his voice laced with forced cheer. “What do you want? I can order takeout, or we can go to that Japanese place down the street…” He turned, meeting my red-rimmed eyes. His expression immediately softened. “Come on, honey. Don’t be dramatic.” He reached for me. “Our girl is the most understanding, isn’t she?” I flinched away from his touch. My voice was a flat slab of ice. “Get the cream stew back.” Jake’s smile froze on his face. He untied his apron, wadded it into a ball, and threw it hard at my feet. He pointed a finger, shaking it in my face, before finally, through gritted teeth, saying, “Fine.” The call connected. Scarlett answered, saying her son had eaten them. “I’m so sorry, truly. I’ll pay for them, whatever they cost.” Jake’s facade was crumbling. A plate of holiday food, and an unstoppable scene unfolding. “It’s nothing, Scarlett. Jenny is just being silly. I’ll buy her a new batch—” “Jake, it’s not the same,” I cut him off. He slammed the phone down. The screen shattered, fragments flying, and a few pieces grazed my arm, drawing pinpricks of blood. His voice swelled into a shout. “What exactly are you trying to do today?” “It’s just a damn cream stew, Jenny. Stop being so obvious with your hostility toward Scarlett.” I was stunned into silence. Jake yanked a wad of cash from his wallet and flung it at my face. Bills fluttered down, mixed with three faded tickets to an amusement park. “Is that enough?” He pulled out his card. And threw that too. “Is that enough?” “I’ll cover her debt!” The sound thrummed against my eardrums. In six years, this was the first time Jake had yelled at me like this—savage and consuming. My chest ached, the sorrow too thick to let words escape. I fumbled frantically for my photo album, desperate to find proof of the five-year-old promise: the one where he swore today would be our wedding day. He was the one who forgot. “Enough. We both need to cool down,” Jake said, pushing my phone away. “Jenny, you need to seriously reflect on your own jealousy.” The door slammed shut. I started dry heaving, clutching the fabric over my heart. Only the pressure seemed to ease the terrible feeling of suffocation. When the crying stopped and I could breathe again, I dragged myself up to pack my few belongings. I arrived six years ago full of reckless courage; I was leaving now utterly, tragically alone. Scarlett had posted a picture to her feed. The caption read: The happiest New Year’s ever. The photo’s background was a high-end restaurant. Jake was holding the boy, and Scarlett was nestled right against his side. While I was on the brink of breakdown, they had gone out for a lavish dinner. The table was covered in rich food. The dish Jake had just reheated in the kitchen for me? Their leftovers. And among the food was fresh shrimp, Scarlett’s favorite, but a deadly allergen for me. He hadn’t even thought to remove it while heating the meal. Jake’s assistant had commented: “Wow, that was fast. Scarlett’s charm is undeniable, sis.” “Jake swore up and down he was an anti-marriage bachelor. Guess he finally bowed down to you, Scarlett.” The screen went black, reflecting my own pale, shocked face. My hands trembled as I finished packing. At the bottom of my suitcase was the train ticket from six years ago—the thirty-two-hour journey that marked the beginning. And the six years that Jake had never taken seriously.

2 It was laughable. After all those years in Minneapolis, I had no friends, no job, and the only money I had was the wad Jake had thrown at my face last night. I had only learned to revolve around him. To cook his meals, put him first, and empty my savings to buy him a ridiculously expensive watch just to see him smile. I was unbelievably stupid. Stupid enough to hand my heart over completely, giving him unrestricted access to hurt it. “One ticket back to Miami, please.” The older ticket agent paused. “Wait, you’re that girl from six years ago, aren’t you?” I looked up, the gray of my face finally finding some color. “You remember me?” She smiled. “Who could forget you two?” “Your young man waited for you outside the station for over a day. The snow covered his shoulders; he looked like an ice sculpture, but he wouldn’t move. He was terrified of missing you.” “We told him to come inside for coffee to warm up. He gave us this embarrassed laugh and said he was starting his own business, but he’d spent every last penny on your welcome gift. He couldn’t even afford the bus fare, so he walked five hours just to get here.” I listened, mesmerized. My chest felt heavy and bittersweet. From the dilapidated shack to the rental apartment to this big, modern loft. The boy had swallowed the hardship alone. With hands marked by frostbite and calluses, he’d built brick by brick, creating happiness, creating a home. He’d said: “We won’t be afraid of winter anymore.” “Jenny, I was terrified you’d come and terrified you wouldn’t.” “I was afraid you’d have to suffer with me.” “But I was so much more afraid that you wouldn’t love me.” He’d cried that day. Holding me so tightly it felt like he was trying to meld me into his body. My own tears followed. They were happy tears then. How did they become so painful now? “Here you are, sweetheart.” My fingers trembled. It felt like I was receiving not a ticket, but a knife to sever the past. “Don’t cry.” The agent saw the expensive jade bracelet on my wrist and seemed relieved. “When you build a life with a man from nothing, don’t talk about feelings. Talk about money. Talk about whether he still chooses to be good to you.” I nodded. The ticket was crumpled in my hand. Just before I reached the boarding gate, Jake found me. He was running, just like six years ago, and he pulled me into his arms. I could hear his ragged breathing, his frantic heartbeat, and the tremor in his voice. “Don’t leave…” “Jenny, I was just angry. I didn’t mean to drive you away…” Jake tore the ticket from my hand, lifted me, and shoved me into the passenger seat of his SUV. “You hate that I talk to Scarlett, right?” he said, driving wildly. “I’ve had her moved to a different department. I will keep my distance.” I remained silent, staring blankly at the ornament dangling from the rearview mirror—a gift from Scarlett. The car was saturated with a light citrus scent—Scarlett’s perfume. The console, which used to hold my lip balm and CDs, was now packed with children’s snacks and a few lipsticks that weren’t mine. I blinked, my eyes stinging. Jake didn’t notice my deadened silence. He was rambling about taking me to Banff for our holiday break. I sighed softly. I didn’t even have the energy to nod.

3 Jake stopped mentioning Scarlett. Their message log was, once again, clean, showing only essential work communication. The slate seemed wiped clean. “Jenny, I’m running for VP, so work is going to be hellish for a while.” His voice was distorted through the phone, not quite real. “I wired money to your account. Go shopping, buy what you like. Don’t spend all your energy worrying about me.” He came home after I was asleep. He left before I woke up. There was always warmed breakfast in the microwave. My dirty clothes were washed and hung on the balcony. Jake’s presence was everywhere in the apartment. I could see it. But I couldn’t grasp it anymore. I felt us drifting apart, the relationship rusting. We could polish that layer of rust off, and everything looked the same, but the relationship had lost its weight. It was suspended in the air, trembling with the slightest breeze. I was planning to take the money and leave, but then came the biggest variable: I was pregnant. At first, I was just drowsy, nauseous, and throwing up constantly. I mentioned it to Jake. The next day, he came home with a huge bag of medication and, without a word of instruction, rushed out the door again. I took the pills until I felt so ill I went to the clinic. That’s when I found out I was pregnant. “We need further testing to determine if you can keep the baby,” the doctor frowned. “Taking this many antibiotics, there’s a risk of birth defects.” Two nurses had to help me get off the table. I spent the next six hours, the most agonizing of my life, in the waiting room. My hands were covered in bruises from where I’d pinched myself. My eyes were wide open, streaming with tears and guilt. I blamed myself for not realizing I was pregnant sooner. For not checking the medication. For blindly swallowing everything Jake handed me. “For now, things look okay. Come back next month for a follow-up.” A wave of relief washed over me. I even ate an extra bowl of dinner that night. Jake got home around midnight. He reeked of alcohol, his cheek was split and bleeding, and one eye was purple. “Did you get into a fight again?” He mumbled something vague and stumbled into the bathroom. His work phone, tossed on the bed, pinged. Scarlett: Jake, thank you, truly, for standing up to him today. My ex would never stop harassing me otherwise. Scarlett: I am so helpless. If you hadn’t been with us all this time, my son and I would never have made it. Mike loves you so much. He waits every day for ‘Daddy Jake’ to come play with him. Jake, please, give us a family. The words hammered my nerves. The pain was excruciating, like my guts were twisting into knots. Daddy Jake… Who would my child call Daddy? Give us a family. What about my home? The shelter I’d craved since childhood, the home I’d helped build—it was gone. Torn to shreds by Jake’s own hand. I bit down on my tongue, forcing myself to stay clear-headed. I scrolled back through everything. They had never broken contact. They had only moved their relationship from the visible world to the private one, the one on the second phone, the one where he received sincere congratulations on every photo with her and her son. I had been abandoned again. Scarlett: I found the ring in the cream stew. Was your girlfriend planning to propose? Should I bring it back to you? Jake: No. Just pretend you didn’t see it. I’m not ready for marriage right now. I couldn’t maintain the pretense of dignity any longer. My hand shaking, I typed a message to Scarlett: Love being the side chick? You can have the trash. I don’t want him. “Jenny Stone, what the hell are you doing with my phone!”

4 Jake’s tenderness vanished the moment I touched his raw nerve. He yanked me back, and I stumbled, falling against the side of the bed. Ignoring the sudden, sharp pain in my lower abdomen, I scrambled up and slapped him hard across his already swollen face. He stared down at the phone in my hand. “Give it to me.” I didn’t move. He lunged for it, grabbing my hand and prying my fingers open one by one. I heard a terrifying crack from my knuckle as I cried out. He snatched the phone back. “Too late. The message is sent, Jake. You can’t unsend it.” I started to laugh, a wild, hysterical sound that sounded like glee and madness all at once. “I called her a whore, Jake. A home-wrecker. Does that hurt? Does it make your darling hero complex ache?” “Scarlett is a home-wrecker—” Smack. I landed on the bed. The slap had driven every single word back into my stomach. They swirled around, turning into pain, into nausea, into clinging, tentacled vines that tore me apart from the inside. My eyes were swollen and throbbing. I wondered if he had damaged them, because how else could I be shedding so much warm liquid? Could it be anything but blood and tears? “Do you have any idea how much you’re hurting her?” Jake roared. “Jenny, you are trying to break her! She has depression because of her ex. Are you only satisfied if she kills herself?” My voice was a raw croak. “Yes.” “I want all of you to die. You, too.” Jake stormed to the kitchen, grabbed a knife, and shoved it into my hand. Then he pressed the blade to his own throat. It was a desperate, scorched-earth move. “Go on. Kill me.” “Fucking kill me if you’ve got the guts!” “Jenny, I never said I wouldn’t marry you! Scarlett’s situation isn’t resolved yet. I don’t have the energy to deal with you right now. You waited six years—are you really so starved for a little more time? So starved for a little more love?”