For most of my relationship, I believed everything was fine. My girlfriend and I had been together for three years, and I thought we were solid. We weren’t perfect, but we cared about each other. Then things slowly started changing. She became distant—short replies, cold shoulders, and long periods where she just didn’t want to talk. At first, I blamed myself. I thought maybe I wasn’t doing enough, maybe I had pushed her away somehow. So I tried harder than ever to fix things.I brought her flowers whenever I saw her.
I watched the shows she loved, even when they weren’t my thing. I tried to start new routines together, like going to the gym. Being seventeen meant I didn’t have the kind of money or independence adults use to fix relationships—no fancy trips or big romantic gestures—but I gave everything I had. Still, the more effort I put in, the more secretive she became. She started turning off her location late at night and wouldn’t turn it back on until the next morning. Her phone, which had never been a problem before, suddenly became completely off-limits.
Deep down, my gut told me what most people would assume—that she was cheating. I just couldn’t bring myself to believe it. Every time I tried to talk about it, the conversation turned into a fight. Somehow I ended up being the bad guy for wanting reassurance. While she seemed calm during those arguments, I felt like my whole world was falling apart. Months passed like that until I finally decided I couldn’t keep living in that constant doubt. I planned to confront her one last time and either fix things or walk away.
When I arrived at her house, my heart was racing. I had rehearsed a whole speech during the drive over. But when her mom let me in and I stepped into her bedroom, all the words disappeared. She was in the shower, and her phone was sitting right there on the nightstand. I stared at it for a long time, knowing that whatever I found could destroy what little trust I had left. The sound of the running water filled the silence, and my thoughts kept getting louder. Finally, I grabbed the phone.
I went straight to her messages, expecting the worst. But there was nothing—no suspicious conversations, no hidden guys, nothing that suggested cheating. I checked her photos, her deleted pictures, and her social media apps. Everything looked normal. For a moment, I thought maybe she simply didn’t love me anymore. That idea still hurt, but at least it made sense. Then I noticed one last app: her notes.
There was only one note saved, titled “Names and Ratings.” My stomach dropped as I opened it. At first I thought it was some kind of joke or weird list, but the more I read, the colder my body felt. Each name had a rating beside it, followed by chilling descriptions of how they died. Some had their throats cut. One had been strangled. Another had been decapitated. These weren’t jokes or fantasies—they were written like records. Like someone keeping score.
Then I reached the final entry.My own name was there.“Donavin: TBD. I expect this kill to be the hardest. I accidentally fell in love with this one. I think I’ll cut his heart out. God, I hope he fights back.”
My hands started shaking so badly I could barely hold the phone. The room felt silent and heavy, like the air had been sucked out of it. And then I heard the shower stop. A few seconds later, the bathroom door creaked open. She stepped out wrapped in a towel, smiling like nothing in the world was wrong.
“Hey, baby,” she said casually. “I was just about to call you. Want to go for a drive tonight?”At that moment, I realized something terrifying. I had spent months worrying that she might be cheating on me. But the truth was far worse.
Moral:
Sometimes the truth we fear isn’t the worst possibility. Trust your instincts when something feels wrong—because ignoring those warnings can lead you straight into danger.