Chapter 1: The Missing Pill

A year together, and every time my hand drifted too close, she’d pull away like my touch burned.

It always struck me as odd, but she insisted she was traditional and old-fashioned—said she was saving herself for marriage. I wanted to respect that. In a world where everyone rushes into things, maybe she really was one of the last good girls out there. I bought it, tried to be the supportive boyfriend, swallowing my own needs for the sake of her values.

Until I found a box of emergency contraceptive pills in her purse.

1

The box was clear: Two pills per pack. Take the first within 24 hours after unprotected sex, the second 12 hours later.

But one pill was already missing.

My stomach dropped, cold and heavy, like I’d swallowed a handful of ice. I just stood there in the cramped light of my living room, paralyzed. I stared at the open purse, the half-empty box, unable to make sense of it. The sitcom’s canned laughter clashed with the smell of old pizza boxes stacked on the coffee table. My hands felt numb.

The sound of running water in the bathroom cut off—my girlfriend was done showering.

Panic shot through me. I quickly put her purse back exactly where I’d found it, making sure everything looked untouched. My heart hammered, louder than the soft music still playing on her phone in the bathroom. Guilt and suspicion tangled up inside me.

But I couldn’t stop the avalanche of questions. Yesterday, she’d told me she was having dinner and catching a movie with her best friend. She didn’t get home until almost midnight. My brain ran through every possibility, every detail, every tiny lie I might’ve missed.

Could it be…

The more I thought about it, the worse it seemed. My gut twisted. I’d always trusted her, but now doubt wormed its way in—what if I’d just been naïve all along?

Jealousy and anxiety gnawed at me. I paced the living room, replaying her words, her texts, her smiles. Was I just being crazy? Or was something real happening right under my nose?

She came out in her pajamas, and I asked as casually as I could, “So, which movie did you and your best friend watch last night? Was it any good?”

She paused, towel in hand, drying her hair. Her eyes flicked away, just for a heartbeat.

“Honestly? I can’t even remember what we picked. We mostly just talked and barely watched.”

Was she always this vague, or was I just noticing it now? My mind wouldn’t let it go.

Sensing I wanted to dig deeper, she quickly cut me off: “Let’s not talk about it, I have class early tomorrow. I need to sleep.”

She turned away and missed the dark look on my face. I stood there, fists balled in my hoodie pockets, teeth clenched, watching her walk away. The air between us felt colder than usual, like a draft sneaking in through a cracked window.

That night, I didn’t sleep at all. I stared up at the popcorn ceiling, listening to her soft breathing beside me, wondering if I’d ever really known her at all.