Chapter 20: Suspicion Grows
Linda had always believed in giving people the benefit of the doubt. It was one of the reasons she had trusted the man so quickly, why she had believed in the love they were building, and why she had been so hopeful about moving in with him. But now… now something didn't feel right.
It started with his phone.
At first, it was subtle. He would glance at it more often than before, hiding the screen whenever she looked over. He claimed it was work messages, colleagues asking questions, or notifications he needed to respond to quickly. But the way he tensed whenever she approached made Linda uneasy.
She tried to ignore it, telling herself it was just stress, that people were busy. But the unease in her chest refused to settle. Every time she saw him smiling at the phone in ways he didn't smile at her, she felt a pang of doubt.
One evening, Linda was sitting on the couch reading, when she noticed his phone light up on the kitchen counter. He stepped out briefly to take a call, leaving the phone unlocked. Linda's hand hovered over it. She didn't want to invade his privacy, but curiosity gnawed at her.
She glanced at the screen. There were messages from a name she didn't recognize—short, affectionate texts, flirty emojis, late-night goodnight messages. Her stomach twisted.
She quickly put the phone down as he returned, smiling at her. "Everything okay?" he asked.
Linda nodded quickly, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just reading."
But inside, her mind raced. These messages weren't just casual; they were intimate. They were personal. And they weren't meant for her.
Over the next few days, the behavior continued. He would come home later than usual, sometimes claiming meetings or work deadlines. Linda noticed him being unusually quiet when she asked about his day. His eyes darted around when he spoke, and he seemed distracted, almost secretive.
Linda's mind refused to rest. She tried to focus on her work, her routines, her small projects around the apartment, but every moment she wasn't with him, her imagination ran wild. She replayed the moments from the past week: the long hours on his phone, the short answers, the quick exits.
One night, she decided to confront him gently.
"Hey," she said softly, sitting beside him on the couch, "I feel like something's going on. You've been distant lately. Is everything okay?"
He shrugged, not looking at her. "I told you, just tired. Work is stressful."
Linda reached for his hand. "You don't have to hide things from me. I just… I want us to be honest with each other."
He pulled his hand away, a little too quickly. "I said I'm fine. Can we not do this tonight?"
Linda's heart sank. She wanted to press further, but she remembered how sharp he had sounded. Instead, she forced a smile and nodded. "Okay."
Meanwhile, outside the apartment, Mathilda's anger continued to simmer. She hadn't spoken to Linda since the eviction case, but every day she felt a gnawing frustration. Seeing Linda move in with the man she had once liked, winning the court case, and seemingly building a happy life—it infuriated her.
She scrolled through social media obsessively, seeing pictures of Linda with her new life. She saw the smiles, the cozy moments, the posts of him holding her hand, and she clenched her fists.
"Why her?" she muttered one night, pacing her apartment. "After everything… why does she get to be happy?"
Mathilda's anger wasn't just jealousy; it was hurt, betrayal, and resentment all tangled together. And though she kept her distance, she couldn't stop thinking about Linda, the friendship that had ended, and the life she had taken.
Back in the apartment, Linda's unease grew. She started noticing patterns: late-night messages, sudden meetings he didn't mention, whispered phone calls that ended abruptly when she entered the room. She tried to dismiss them, tried to tell herself she was imagining things, but every moment piled on more suspicion.
One afternoon, she was cleaning the living room when she found a small note tucked under a cushion. It wasn't meant for her; the handwriting was different, familiar to her in a way that made her stomach churn. The words were short, affectionate, and unmistakably romantic—someone else.
Linda held the note, trembling. Her chest tightened. She didn't want to believe it. She tried to rationalize it—maybe it was an old note, maybe she had misread it. But deep down, she knew.
The next few days were torture. She watched him closely, noting every glance, every secretive movement, every message that came through on his phone. He was polite, even affectionate at times, but there was a coldness in his eyes, a distance she couldn't ignore.
She began questioning herself. Had she been naive? Had she ignored the warning signs? She thought about the honeymoon phase, about the warmth and intimacy they had shared, and wondered if it had all been a facade.
Her doubts grew every time he left suddenly, every time his phone buzzed, every time he seemed distracted. She felt powerless, trapped in a situation where she couldn't confirm her fears but couldn't ignore them either.
One evening, she confronted him again, her voice trembling but firm.
"I can't ignore this anymore," she said. "The late nights, the messages, the secrecy… something's going on. I can feel it. Please, just tell me the truth."
He looked at her, a flicker of guilt crossing his face. But then he forced a smile. "Linda, you're imagining things. I've told you, I'm tired. That's all."
Linda shook her head, tears pricking her eyes. "I'm not imagining things. I know when something is wrong. I can feel it."
He sighed, running his hands through his hair. "I said I'm fine. Can we not fight about this?"
Linda felt a mix of frustration and sadness. She wanted to scream, to demand the truth, but she also wanted to believe him. Every time she saw his smile, every time he touched her hand, part of her wanted to trust him, to hold on to the love they had shared.
But the unease wouldn't go away.
As the days passed, the tension in the apartment grew. Linda noticed how he avoided eye contact at times, how he seemed preoccupied, how his laughter didn't reach his eyes. Every small action fed the growing suspicion in her mind.
She tried to keep busy, working on projects, running errands, cooking meals, anything to distract herself. But every quiet moment, every pause in conversation, made her heart race. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was happening behind her back.
And somewhere in the background, Mathilda's anger simmered. She wasn't directly involved, but she was never far from Linda's mind. Seeing Linda with her man, happy and seemingly secure, made the stakes feel higher. Linda felt the pressure of her own intuition and the shadow of past conflict.
One night, as Linda lay awake on the couch, staring at the ceiling, she felt a growing certainty: something was wrong. She didn't know what it was yet, but she could feel it in every fiber of her being. The honeymoon phase was fading, replaced by tension, doubt, and fear.
And deep down, she knew that the truth, when it came, would hurt more than she could imagine.
The late nights, the hidden messages, the distant behavior—all signs pointed to a betrayal she wasn't ready to face.
But the warning signs were there, and she couldn't ignore them any longer.
Suspicion had grown, and with it, the dread that the life she had thought perfect might not be real at all.