Jenna: “The other night was amazing. Can’t wait to see you again.

Jenna was my friend.

I opened the messages. There it all was.

Him: “Babysitting a cripple is exhausting. You better make it worth it later.”
Her: “Poor you

At least she’s paying for our dates.”
Him: “True. She finally paid for something fun

Photos. Restaurants. Her car. Her kissing his cheek.

I was paying him to care for me while he used that money to cheat on me with my friend.

I put the phone back.

When he came out, smiling, asking, “You sleep okay?” I replied, “Yeah. Thanks for taking care of me.”

“Of course. I’m doing my best.”

That was when something inside me hardened.

That afternoon, I called my sister.

She came over. “What’s going on?” she asked.

I told her everything.

“I’m going to bury him in the backyard,” she said.
“Tempting,” I replied. “But I had something more legal in mind.”

I told her I wanted out.

She agreed instantly.

Then she froze.
“Wait,” she said. “Oh my God. I think I accidentally have proof he’s cheating.”

She showed me photos from a street festival—him and Jenna, clearly together. We printed everything. Saved the messages. Found a lawyer.

Meanwhile, I kept playing my role.

I paid him every Friday.

I acted grateful.