Chapter 7: Secrets, Alt Accounts, and Hope

I found Jake’s group of childhood friends lounging on the sofa, wine glasses in hand, full of teasing energy.

“Dude, you keep playing it cool, your wife’s gonna run off with some Cubs fan from Wrigleyville.”

They were so at ease around Jake, never watching their words. Jake just picked up his whiskey and took a sip, his handsome face unreadable.

He said something that made the group howl with laughter. But I caught a hint of something off.

They said Jake had an Instagram alt account and posted on it often.

Curious, wanting to catch Jake in something, I typed in the nickname from memory and found an account with his avatar. I clicked in, expecting some macho boasting.

But when I saw the content, I froze.

[Finally married my crush, but I have an addiction problem. How can I give my partner a good experience without scaring her?]

The next post:

[This dazzling world is so tempting. She thinks I’m old-fashioned and useless. If I pleased her like this, would she refuse?]

The attached picture was of a butler outfit and a puppy collar.

In an instant, all the blood in my body boiled. I wanted to laugh, to scream, to shake him awake and demand why he’d never told me any of this. Instead, I just stared at the screen, my heart doing cartwheels.

For the first time in months, hope flared inside me—wild and reckless. Maybe our story wasn’t over. Maybe it was just about to begin.