I didn't see Zachary once in those three days.
My feed pushed another one of Susan's videos at me.
In it, she was drunk out of her mind, her makeup smeared all over her face, rubbing off onto her clothes and a white pillow.
The camera panned, and a large hand with sharply defined knuckles was carefully wiping the makeup off her face.
That was Zachary's hand. And on his face was a smile far too doting.
Zachary was a germaphobe.
Once, when I overslept and rushed out the door, I brought breakfast to eat in his car. All I got for it was a sharp scolding.
If I had any makeup on, I wasn't allowed to lean my face against him.
Yet in the video he wiped Susan's makeup off without a flicker of distaste, his white dress shirt smudged with her lipstick and eyeshadow.
Can loving someone really be faked that convincingly?
The video wasn't even finished when I dropped Susan's account into my blocked list.
What I didn't expect was that footage of the three of us in the office that day had been filmed by someone and posted online.
Public opinion boiled over fast.
To my surprise, almost every comment was tearing into Susan, calling her a homewrecker. The stock price of Zachary's company took a sharp dive.
I didn't much care, though. I was leaving anyway. None of it had anything to do with me.
I had just picked up my suitcase to head out the door.
Zachary stormed back in, Susan trailing behind him.
"Amelia, did you post it?"
He flung his phone at me.
On the screen was a post from an anonymous burner account, plainly stating that Susan was the other woman, complete with an attached PDF file.
I couldn't help but roll my eyes. "I have no interest in doing something like that."
"You think I'd believe that?" His voice was terrifyingly cold.
"Susan already apologized to you. What more do you want? Now her social media is being slandered and attacked, the stock price has dropped, and you still have to drag it this far?"
Susan sobbed, "Amelia, what exactly will it take for you to forgive me? Do I have to get down on my knees and beg you?"
As she spoke, she grabbed at me, making a show of sinking to her knees.
Zachary's fist clenched,
his hand seizing my arm,
then he shoved me away hard, gathering Susan into his arms.
I lost my footing. My lower back struck the corner of a low cabinet, and a sharp pain shot through me. The color drained from my face in an instant, my body going weak, unable to stand.
In the haze, I saw Zachary reach a hand toward me.
The next second he pulled it back.
"Zachary, I think I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much," Susan whimpered, trembling.
"Susan, are you okay? I'll take you to the hospital."
Every word dripped with tenderness and concern.
He swept Susan up into his arms, and when he looked back at me, his face was nothing but open, glaring disgust.
I pulled at the corner of my mouth.
It could finally be over.
Zachary rushed Susan off to the hospital,
while I forced my body upright, hailed a cab to the airport, and left the city.
