This bastard was supposed to be careful. But ego makes men sloppy. One night, drunk maybe, he tagged himself at a bar not far from our home. At the same time, her location—on a group app she forgot I still had access to—pinged in the same area.
Coincidence? Please. I screenshotted everything.
I imagined his hand on her back as they walked out, her laughter muted in his ear. The thought made bile rise, but it also fed me. Proof stacking, thread by thread. Their web was visible now.
He thought nobody noticed. He thought he could erase tags later. But digital footprints are stubborn. And me? I was becoming a collector of footprints.