His "Female Buddy" Was Fake, So I Dumped Him

Chapter 2

I didn't sleep a wink all night.

I felt like a huge weight was pressing down on my chest—I could barely breathe.

Sean hurried out the door for work right after his morning grooming routine.

I wandered into the living room and glanced toward the laundry basket out of habit.

The knit jacket was gone.

'Did he return it to Sloane already, or hide it somewhere?' I wandered into the living room, massaging my temples, when a ceramic mug on the coffee table caught my eye.

Sean had said Sloane gave him this mug as a birthday present.

That wasn't the only clue. A pair of unworn women's sneakers sat at the bottom of the shoe rack; his excuse was Sloane left them behind during a home visit.

A knitted scarf was tucked inside a study drawer too. According to him, Sloane had botched the knitting and planned to throw it out, so he'd saved it from the trash.

Traces of Sloane dotted every corner of our apartment, stoking my irritation until a simmering anger tightened in my chest.

I recalled Sean had a tight circle of childhood pals who met up regularly—they had to know Sloane.

I pulled up the saved contacts on my phone and placed a call.

"Hey, Zane? It's Elora."

"Hey, what's up?"

"I'm calling to ask if you know Sloane, that gal pal Sean always talks about."

A long pause fell over the line, and his tone turned evasive.

"Sloane... Uh, I've heard the name somewhere, but I barely know her. Sorry."

He hung up hastily before I could follow up with more questions.

My suspicions deepened, and I dialed another friend's number.

This caller stayed quiet for several seconds upon hearing Sloane's name, bluntly said he knew nothing, then cut the call without another word.

I phoned three friends total. Every single one either hemmed and hawed to avoid answering or ended the call abruptly; none could give me clear information about Sloane.

I sank onto the sofa, growing more certain by the minute that something was horribly wrong.

Sloane felt vivid and real in every story Sean shared, like she hung around him every single day, yet in reality, she was a ghost—no trace, no proof.

*****

Sean came home from work that evening with a perfectly ordinary demeanor, as if our bitter argument from the previous night had never happened.

As he swapped out his shoes by the front door, I brought up the jacket intentionally.

"Did you give that coat back to Sloane?"

He never lifted his gaze. "Mm-hmm, dropped it off on my way into the office this morning."

I watched his back, drew in a deep breath, and reached for his phone once more. Still, I found zero suspicious leads.

I stood frozen holding his phone when the bathroom door popped open.

Sean's features darkened the moment he caught sight of the device in my hands.

"Elora, you went through my phone behind my back? Is there no trust left between us anymore?"

I brushed off his accusations and turned the phone screen toward him, my voice trembling.

"Sean, tell me the truth. Who is Sloane really? Does she even exist?"

A flash of panic darted across his eyes for a split second, so fleeting I almost thought I'd imagined it. He knitted his brows right after.

"Why would I fabricate an entire person out of thin air? What would I get out of it? Endless fights with you?"

He snatched the cellphone right out of my palm.

"Elora, stop stirring things up over nothing. You're just embarrassing yourself."

With that, he walked off without sparing me another glance.