The orange and red leaves outside seemed to mock my restlessness as I stared at my phone, waiting for my boyfriend, Jace, to finally show up.

He hadn’t visited in days, claiming he was just tired, but something about his excuses didn’t sit right with me.

I fiddled with the hem of my sweater, tapping my foot anxiously against the hardwood floor. Finally, I gave up and dialed his number. The phone rang a few times before he answered.

“Are you sleeping?” I asked, trying to hide the edge in my voice.

“Yeah,” he said, pausing for a second. “Sorry I didn’t text you. I just fell asleep. I’m not feeling great—might have a fever or something.”

“Oh…” I said softly, not sure what else to say.

He coughed hard into the phone, making me wince. “Look, I’ll text you later,” he muttered, his words rushed.

“Feel bet—” I started, but the line went dead before I could finish.

Grabbing my coat, I headed out into the crisp autumn air, determined. The walk to the store was brisk, the kind that makes your cheeks tingle.

Inside, I picked up fresh fruit, tea, and a box of throat lozenges, imagining how grateful Jace would be when I showed up.

Back at his building, I pressed the elevator button, adjusting the heavy bag on my arm. Usually, I took the stairs, but not today.

When the doors slid open, my heart stopped. There he was—Jace—with his arms around a woman I didn’t recognize.

Her face pressed against his chest, and they were so close it made my stomach churn. This wasn’t just a hug. It was something more.

“Looks like you’re feeling better,” I said, my voice louder than I intended, cutting through the quiet hallway.

His mouth opened, but I held up a hand to stop him. “Don’t. Just don’t. If you take one more step or say one more word, I swear I’ll make you regret it.” I hurled the bag of groceries at him, the fruit spilling across the floor.

Without waiting for his reaction, I turned and walked away, my heart pounding with anger and disgust.

He didn’t call after me, didn’t try to stop me, and for that, I was glad. He wasn’t worth it. Not anymore.

Not even a simple “I’m sorry, I’m a jerk, and I don’t deserve you.” Was that too much to ask?

It gnawed at me, this unfinished business. I couldn’t move on, couldn’t let go, because it felt like he was still lurking in my life, like a shadow I couldn’t shake.

I decided I needed closure, even if it meant facing him. So, I texted him, my fingers trembling with anger. After a few minutes, he replied.

Our café. The place where we had our first date. The nerve. Still, I agreed.

At 6 p.m., I sat in the corner booth, the one we always chose. The warm smell of coffee and pastries surrounded me, but it brought no comfort.

Every time the door opened, I glanced up, expecting to see him. But Jace didn’t show.

By 7 p.m., I was tapping my foot under the table, staring at the cold tea I hadn’t touched. By 8 p.m., I was furious. Finally, my phone buzzed.

I stared at the screen, stunned by his cowardice. What did that even mean? He couldn’t stand seeing me?

He was the one who had cheated, yet he was acting like the victim. My anger boiled over.

When I finally got home, the fury still burned in my chest. I stomped up the stairs, muttering under my breath.

Then, as I turned the corner, I froze. Standing outside my apartment was her. The woman from the elevator. She looked nervous, like she’d been waiting for me.

“I want to talk to you,” she said, her tone calm but uneasy. “I feel like I owe you… more than just a conversation.”

I folded my arms tightly, glaring at her. “You’re a few hours late,” I snapped. “I don’t want anything to do with that jerk. You can have him.” Turning away, I fumbled with my keys, determined to shut this conversation down.

“That’s the thing—I don’t want him either,” she said, her voice firmer this time. It stopped me cold. “I finally realized what he’s really like, and I wanted to talk to someone who understands.”

I hesitated, my hand still on the doorknob. This was absurd, completely insane. But a part of me was curious.

With a deep sigh, I turned back to her. “Fine. Come in,” I said, pushing the door open and stepping aside.

As she entered, I asked, “What’s your name, anyway?”

“Ashley,” she said softly, her eyes darting to the floor.

“I know,” she admitted, guilt written all over her face.

I walked to the kitchen, motioning for her to follow. “Come on,” I said. “I’d offer you tea, but I think this calls for something stronger.” I grabbed a bottle of wine from the counter and set it down.

Ashley sat at the table, folding her hands nervously. “You didn’t know about me,” she began. “But I knew you existed. Jace told me he had a girlfriend, but he said you were awful to him. He claimed you ignored him, flirted with other men, made him feel worthless.”

“What the—?! That’s exactly what he did to me!” I burst out, anger flaring.

“Looks like the jerk fooled both of us,” I said bitterly, pouring the wine.

“That’s why I’m here. I don’t want him to get away with it,” she said, her voice steady.

“What are you suggesting?” I asked, narrowing my eyes.

Ashley smiled, a sly, mischievous grin. “Revenge,” she said simply. “You know how much of a homophobe Jace is?”

Ashley and I wasted no time setting our plan into motion. We created several profiles for Jace on popular dating sites, carefully crafting his “interests” and uploading photos we had saved from his social media.

We sent flirty messages to men who seemed eager to connect, pretending to be Jace himself.

“I’m looking for someone special,” we wrote, ending with a winking emoji. We even set up meetups at his apartment, choosing times when we knew he’d be home.

The thought of him opening his door to confused strangers made us laugh until our sides hurt.

Though we couldn’t track the exact number of calls, the texts we received from Jace told us everything we needed to know. “Who are these people?” “Why won’t my phone stop ringing?” His desperation fueled us to keep going.

The billboard idea was the final touch. We found ad space in the busiest parts of town and designed a bright, eye-catching poster featuring Jace’s smiling face with the caption: “Looking for a man to support and cherish.”

We can stop, but there’s one condition.

I’ll do anything. Just stop.

I sent him the amount—enough for a two-week vacation to Spain. When the transfer hit my account, I sent him one last text.

After sending that final text to Jace, Ashley and I blocked his number. There was nothing more to say. The moment felt oddly triumphant, like closing the chapter of a bad book I’d been stuck reading for far too long.

We immediately turned our focus to planning the trip. A few days later, Ashley and I landed in Spain.

The sun was bright, the air warm, and the sound of waves crashing against the shore was the perfect soundtrack to our newfound freedom.

We found a spot on the beach, stretched out on lounge chairs, and ordered cold sangria.

Ashley turned to me with a grin. “Best team effort ever,” she said, raising her glass of sangria. I smiled, knowing she was right.

I’d lost a terrible boyfriend but gained one hell of a friend. Revenge never tasted so sweet.

If you enjoyed this story, read this one: When a grouchy old man slams the door on a persistent teen, he thinks he’s rid of her for good. But when a hurricane traps them together, the storm outside reveals the truth about her shocking connection to his past. Read the full story here.