Handcuffed to My Husband’s Betrayal / Chapter 1: Arrested for Loneliness
Handcuffed to My Husband’s Betrayal

Handcuffed to My Husband’s Betrayal

Author: Jacqueline Brooks

Chapter 1: Arrested for Loneliness

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I had a flash marriage with a police officer, and ever since, we’ve basically lived like strangers who only text. Our chats could’ve been written by Siri:

【Catching criminals tonight, not coming home. Lock the door.】

【Still chasing suspects, not coming home. Lock the door.】

【Catching criminals. Lock the door.】

Finally, the apartment felt too quiet, just the hum of the fridge and the glow of my phone lighting up the empty room. I couldn’t take the loneliness anymore. I called my best friend and decided to go out for a little fun.

I texted Ryan first:

【Still catching criminals tonight?】

CrimeFighterRX: 【Yep】

Perfect. If he’s out chasing bad guys, he won’t be around to catch me breaking the rules.

The next second, while I was happily watching male models shake it, the door slammed open:

【Vice squad raid! Everyone’s under arrest!】

Everything went black.

Turns out the criminal he was chasing tonight... was me.

---

Day 32 of married life.

My best friend sent me ten borderline-NSFW videos—the kind TikTok keeps up, but Instagram would ban in a heartbeat. I stared at all those abs on my phone, my mouth so dry I could’ve swallowed a desert.

“How do those bodies compare to Officer Jackson?” she texted, followed by a parade of eggplant emojis.

I rolled my eyes and stared at the ceiling, picking absentmindedly at the popcorn texture. My restlessness was off the charts.

“I’ve never even seen him with his shirt off...”

She replied, shocked: “No way? Girl, if you don’t jump that man soon, Officer Jackson’s gun is gonna rust. And I don’t mean his service weapon.”

I wanted to. God, I wanted to. I was so thirsty I could’ve hallucinated an oasis.

Ryan Jackson and I met on a blind date at Starbucks downtown. I’m embarrassed to admit it was love at first sight—the kind where you’re so distracted you walk into a glass door.

Police uniform, broad shoulders, narrow waist, legs that don’t quit, and a face that belongs on a romance novel cover. Basically, walking testosterone. The man looked like he’d stepped right off the "Hot Cops of America" calendar.

"Miss Harper, you don’t mind that police work keeps me busy?" he’d asked, stirring his black coffee—no sugar, no cream, just like him: intense and straightforward.

"Not at all! I don’t mind!" I’d nearly choked on my caramel macchiato, nodding so hard I almost gave myself whiplash.

Ambitious men. Men with a mission. Men in uniform who could probably bench press me for fun. I was hooked.

Then I learned that when he’s busy, I basically become a widow—a very sexually frustrated widow with a Netflix addiction.

On our wedding night at the Marriott, before our lips even touched, his phone blared and he bolted upright, sheets tangled around his legs, like someone set off a fire alarm:

"Emergency. Gotta go catch criminals."

I waited up all night, eating chocolate-dipped strawberries from the Marriott minibar, watching late-night infomercials alone.

Of course, my period showed up before he did. Thanks, universe.

Ryan Jackson either spends his days catching criminals or on his way to catch criminals. The man’s basically Batman without the cool car. And with way less time for date night.

Usually, when I go to sleep, he comes home smelling like coffee and exhaustion. When I wake up, he’s already gone, leaving behind a faint trace of Old Spice and duty.

I’m a morning monster, so he sleeps in the guest room to avoid waking me. After a month, we’re basically long-distance pen pals. Sad, lonely pen pals.

But his response time? Instant. He texts back faster than my Amazon Prime order arrives.

Our chat history reads like I’m talking to a very dedicated, crime-fighting bot.

(Monday)

BarelyAliveEmma: 【Coming home today?】

CrimeFighterRX: 【Catching criminals tonight, not coming home. Lock the door.】

BarelyAliveEmma: 【Package at the pickup station: code 5210】

CrimeFighterRX: 【I’ll grab it when I get back.】

(Tuesday)

BarelyAliveEmma: 【Did you catch the guy?】

CrimeFighterRX: 【He got away. Still chasing. Not coming home. Lock the door.】

BarelyAliveEmma: 【Package pickup: code 5456】

CrimeFighterRX: 【Got it】

(Wednesday)

BarelyAliveEmma: 【Coming back?】

CrimeFighterRX: 【Catching criminals. Lock the door.】

BarelyAliveEmma: 【Package pickup: code 5678】

CrimeFighterRX: 【Got it】

CrimeFighterRX sent you $10,000 via Venmo, note: salary

(Thursday)

BarelyAliveEmma: 【?】

CrimeFighterRX: 【Got it】

BarelyAliveEmma: 【Package pickup: code 6785】

CrimeFighterRX: 【Got it】

If I had a dollar for every time he texted "lock the door," I could retire before him. I swear, even Batman takes Catwoman out for dinner sometimes. Meanwhile, my guy is MIA.

I feel like I married a package-pickup robot who sometimes Venmos me guilt money. I should start charging by the hour.

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