I stopped breathing and didn’t notice for fifteen seconds.

I reached out. My hand trembled so badly my fingers brushed the wood before finding the metal edge. The screen wasn’t locked.

I tapped the banner. The Skype application opened instantly.

I stood there in my scrubs and read six months of chat history.

Her name was Maria. She lived in Cebu, Philippines. She was twenty-eight years old.

I scrolled up. And up. And up.

Not when I worked a double shift on Thanksgiving.
Not when I picked up extra hours on my birthday.
Not when I came home with my feet bleeding from standing for fourteen hours straight.

He was in here. With the door locked. Typing.

He told her he was a retired real estate mogul. He told her he owned three properties in Chicago. He told her his wife had passed away five years ago from cancer.

*Maria: I wish I could see your handsome face clearly.*
*Richard: Soon, my love. I’m having some major cosmetic dental work done. Getting a whole new smile just for you. It’s taking a while, but it’s worth it.*

He used my exhaustion as his alibi. He used my overtime money to buy new teeth so he could look good on a screen for a woman half his age.

I ironed his shirts; he didn’t look up. I bought his favorite ground coffee; he drank it without tasting it. To the world, we were a struggling older couple making it work. Inside this house, I was a bank funding his delusion.

The thick cream folder was still sitting on the kitchen counter. Fourteen thousand dollars of my life.

Suddenly, the iPad chimed in my hand.

An incoming video call.

Maria’s profile picture flashed on the screen. Young, vibrant, smiling.

The silence in my head vanished. A strange, heavy calm settled over my shoulders. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. Something older and steadier rose up in my chest.