It had been another one of Benjamin’s long business trips. I was starting to get used to doing things on my own, but I hated it.

On the third day of Benjamin’s absence, I planned a relaxing evening. Our daughter, Alice, was with her grandma, and I looked forward to a quiet bath. But around noon, I noticed a drip from a dark green pipe behind the sink. By evening, it had turned into a steady stream.

Panic set in. I reached for my phone and called Benjamin. “Come on, pick up,” I whispered. No answer.

I opened the building chat and typed: “Anyone awake? I have a leaking pipe, and I don’t know what to do.”

Seconds later, a response appeared. “Jake here. I can take a look.”

Relief washed over me. Jake lived a few floors down; I’d seen him in the stairwell.

About ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to find Jake with a toolbox, looking calm.

“Looks like you’ve got quite the mess,” he said, glancing at the pipe.

A man walking out of the door | Source: Freepik

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” I admitted.

“No worries. Let me take a look.”

Jake knelt down, and within minutes, he had clamped the pipe, stopping the leak. “Thank you,” I said, genuinely relieved.

The next day, the clamps were still in place. On the floor lay Jake’s forgotten pliers. “He must have left them,” I muttered, throwing a jacket over my shoulders.

I raised my hand to knock on Jake’s door when it suddenly opened. My breath caught. Standing there wasn’t just Jake. It was Benjamin.

My heart raced. “What—what are you doing here?” I stammered.

Benjamin stood shirtless, eyes wide in shock. Jake shifted awkwardly.

“Cleo, listen,” Benjamin started, but the words stuck.

“What is this?” I whispered, stepping back.

Jake stepped forward. “It’s not what you think.”

“Not what I think?” I echoed, my voice rising. “Then what is it?”

Benjamin reached out, but I jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”

I glanced past them into the apartment: an unmade bed, two glasses on the nightstand. My mind raced.

I pushed past Benjamin. “I need to see.”

“Cleo, wait—” he protested, but I entered the apartment. The unmade bed, two half-full wine glasses. The faint scent of Benjamin’s cologne filled the air.

It clicked. The unanswered calls, the missed messages—he wasn’t working late. He was right here, with Jake.

“How long?” I demanded, my voice low. Benjamin looked away.

“Cleo, please—” he started.

“Not what I think?” I spat. “So what is it? Just hanging out? With Jake?”

Benjamin stammered, but no words came out.

“You know what? I’m done.” I grabbed the pliers and threw them onto the bed. “You’ll need those.”

Benjamin’s eyes widened. “Cleo, don’t—”

I pulled out my phone and snapped a picture of the scene. “You want to explain this to everyone?”

I turned and walked out, slamming the door behind me.

Back in my apartment, I locked the door and called my lawyer. “Laura? I need to file for divorce. Tonight.”

The next morning, I opened the building chat, finger hovering over the “send” button.

I hit send.

My phone blew up with messages. Shock, confusion, sympathy filled the chat.

Then came the call. Benjamin. “Cleo, take the photos down. Please.”

“Oh, I do,” I said. “You didn’t think twice about betraying me.”

“I don’t care anymore,” I replied. “You made your choices.”

“I’ll see you in court,” I added, then hung up.

A strange peace washed over me. This wasn’t how I’d imagined my life, but I was taking control of my story, ready for whatever came next.