Chapter 4Trapped in the Mudslide with Him

When the sky finally bruised into the pale gray of dawn, the Department of Transportation trucks arrived.

A temporary lane was cleared through the mudslide, and Bowen and I drove straight back to the city without stopping.

I was physically exhausted, but my brain was buzzing with a toxic, manic energy. Chad's vicious accusations from the night before played on a continuous, agonizing loop in my head. My chest felt like it was stuffed with wet, heavy cotton—aching and suffocating. Every breath tasted bitter.

The moment I unlocked my front door and stepped inside my apartment, the tension that had been holding my spine rigid all night finally collapsed.

The first thing I did was connect my phone to the Wi-Fi.

Chad had apparently unblocked me. The second the signal hit full bars, a barrage of missed text notifications blew up my screen.

But I didn't have the energy to read a single one.

After taking a hot shower to wash the chill out of my bones, I collapsed onto the sofa. I just wanted to mindlessly scroll social media to numb my brain.

Two swipes down my Instagram feed, I saw Lexi’s post from last night.

The timestamp was right in the middle of the worst part of the storm.

There were three photos in the carousel: the first was a perfectly plated steak and two glasses of red wine at a high-end restaurant; the second was two movie tickets held against a steering wheel; the third was a mirror selfie of her pouting at the camera.

The caption read: Rainy nights feel so safe when you have someone by your side. No need to be scared, and no need to stay up alone.

I stared at that mirror selfie, my breath completely stalling in my throat.

In the reflection, draped over the back of the velvet sofa behind her, was a black bomber jacket.

It was the exact jacket I had saved up for months to buy for Chad's birthday.

And resting on the arm of the sofa, just barely visible at the edge of the frame, was a man's wrist wearing a silver watch. A very specific, brushed-steel chronometer that Chad wore every single day.

The time, the place, the items—it all lined up perfectly.

The blood in my veins rushed to my head in a deafening roar, only to instantly plummet down to my toes, leaving me freezing cold.

All those frantic calls. All those furious texts. He wasn't desperately trying to contact me because he was worried about my safety. He was frantically trying to pinpoint my location to ensure I wouldn't walk in on him.

He was sitting in a warm, romantic restaurant with another woman, drinking wine and watching movies, perfectly comfortable and content.

He tracked me down because he was terrified of getting caught.

So the second I had service, rather than asking if I survived a natural disaster, he preemptively attacked me. He shamed me, accused me of cheating, and projected all of his own guilt onto me so I would be too busy defending myself to question him.

Suddenly, all the memories I had meticulously buried at the back of my mind floated to the surface.

During our first year together, he was genuinely attentive. But soon, the dynamic began to sour.

That was right around the time Lexi began slowly, methodically infiltrating our lives.

She was always calling him “Chady,” weaponizing her sweet, baby-soft voice to ask for his help with everything. Fixing her laptop, helping her move boxes, texting him at 2 A.M. because she was "having a panic attack and felt so alone." She would post cryptic Instagram stories that only he understood, accompanied by wide-eyed, innocent selfies.

At first, I gaslit myself. I told myself I was being the crazy, insecure girlfriend.

Until the day I accidentally saw a text pop up on his lock screen: Hey Chady, your girlfriend is out of town tonight, right? Can I come over and hang out?

I confronted him, holding the phone out.

Instead of looking even remotely apologetic, he snatched the phone out of my hand, his face twisting in disgust as he exploded at me.

"Cara, can you stop being so completely paranoid for one second of your life?"

"She’s alone in the city and needs a friend. What is wrong with you?"

"Why are you so toxic?"

He backed me into a corner until I was the one apologizing. I was drowning in betrayal, yet somehow I was made to feel like the villain.

I had tried to push back: "But the way she talks to you crosses a line. Why does she need to come over in the middle of the night?"

"Crosses a line? The only thing crossing a line is your sick imagination! You see filth in everything!" he screamed. "We are just friends. If you want to twist it into something sick, that’s your problem! Can you grow up? Stop policing my phone and my friends. It’s exhausting!"

He hammered me with accusations, shifting 100% of the blame onto my shoulders. He told me I was too sensitive. He told me I was controlling. He told me I was holding him back.

He broke me down until I actually questioned my own reality. I genuinely started to believe that I was just a jealous, possessive partner who didn't know how to be supportive.

After that, he got bolder.

When Lexi sent him a picture of a latte, he would reply, Looks good, next one is on me. When she got a cold, he drove across town to drop off medicine and cook her soup. On my birthday, he went shopping with Lexi and showed up to my dinner over an hour late.

When I finally snapped and cried, he turned it around on me: "It's just a birthday, Cara. Are we really doing this right now? You’re a grown adult, stop acting like a spoiled brat."

Every time I questioned him, I was met with a wall of aggressive deflection. He used rage to shut down my grief. He used pure audacity to normalize his emotional affairs.

I had been so desperate to hold onto the relationship that I let him manipulate me into lowering my boundaries again and again. I kept forgiving him. I kept rationalizing it. I honestly believed that if I just swallowed my pride, if I was just a little more understanding, he would realize how much I loved him and stop.

But my endless compromises only gave him permission to betray me further. My forgiveness became his weapon.

I had actually sat in that freezing car last night, crying tears of guilt over him. I felt bad that I hadn't texted him fast enough.

From beginning to end, I was the only fool in this relationship.

The man I had loved for two years had been playing me for a fool the entire time.