The day our vacation started. I’d been wrestling with my curling iron for a solid hour, and my hair was still a mess of sad, uneven waves. Seeing my struggle, my boyfriend, Ryan, took the hot tool from my hand with the ease of a professional. He sectioned my hair, wrapped each strand around the barrel, and had a perfect cascade of curls finished in under fifteen minutes. He gently combed through the waves with his fingers, then frowned, muttering to himself, "Why does this look... different?" I lifted my head, meeting his eyes in the mirror. "What do you think is different?" I asked softly. He paused, a flicker of memory in his eyes. "The curve... it should be wider, I think." 1 The air went still. The heat from the curling iron beside my ear seemed to sear its way straight into my heart. My fingers tightened around the comb, my throat suddenly tight. "Have you done this for someone else before?" Ryan’s hand froze in mid-air. “Ding-a-ling-ling, it’s eight o’clock! Time to get a move on, Lucy-Goosey!” The custom alarm he’d set for me shattered the silence. Ryan flinched as if waking from a dream. His hand jerked, and the hot barrel of the curling iron nearly grazed my neck. He fumbled to turn off the alarm, his voice feigning a casual tone. "Oh, yeah. Back in college, I got roped into being a stagehand for the drama club…" "You know, helping the girls with their hair and makeup sometimes." The explanation was plausible. Ryan was exactly the kind of dependable guy who’d get stuck with grunt work for a club. But for some reason, the unease in my chest crested into a tidal wave. "Oh, right," I said with a small, tight smile. "You’ve still got the magic touch, even five years after graduation." He let out a dry laugh and turned to grab the purse I’d laid out for the day. "I've pretty much forgotten it all." "Come on, let's go. If we don't leave now, the lines at Disney will be insane." I took a deep breath, watching him expertly pack my bag with compact powder, sunscreen, and tissues. He even found the exact shade of lipstick I’d mentioned off-handedly last night. I forced my brow to smooth. I had to be overthinking this. Thankfully, traffic was light, and we made it to the park before the massive crowds descended. I had been looking forward to this trip for three months, and the second we were through the gates, I was dragging Ryan around, demanding he take pictures of me. Ryan raised the camera. "Head a little to the left," he directed. "Chin down, slightly. Don't slouch." Strangely, the woman in his photos today was stunning. The composition, the lighting, the angles—everything was perfect. He’d even learned how to use portrait mode to blur out the crowds. In the photos, my smile was radiant, but the hand scrolling through them began to tremble. In the five years we'd been together, Ryan had indulged my every whim except for one: photography. He always complained it was a hassle, and his pictures were consistently lazy and poorly framed. They say the person who loves you takes the best pictures of you. We’d fought about it more times than I could count. The anxiety from this morning, which I had tried so hard to suppress, came rushing back, heavy and suffocating. Could someone's photography skills improve so drastically overnight? Noticing my darkening expression, Ryan asked softly, "What's wrong, babe? You don't like them? It's my fault. We can try another spot, I can try again." I shook my head, forcing down the sour knot in my stomach. I manufactured a smile. "No, they're beautiful. I'm just not used to you making me look this good." Ryan chuckled, ruffling my hair. "You were always complaining about my terrible photos. I actually took some lessons from a pro. What do you think? Big improvement, right?" I stared into his eyes. "Your teacher must be a miracle worker," I said, my voice soft. "I tried to teach you for five years and got nowhere, but she gets through to you instantly." Ryan froze for a second, then shrugged with his hands open. "Babe, she's a professional. Besides, aren't you happy? You always said I didn't love you enough to capture your beauty. I guess this proves I do, right?" I don't remember how I responded. The rest of the day passed in a numb haze. It wasn't until we were back in the hotel that night that the one question I'd been avoiding consumed me. Who taught him? Ryan tossed his jacket and phone onto the bed the moment he walked in and headed straight for the shower. I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at his phone. After a few seconds, my trembling hand reached out and unlocked it. The passcode hadn't changed. It was still my birthday. I swiped open the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. WhatsApp, call logs, messages… all clean. He'd even cleared his Uber Eats order history. Everything was flawless. Too flawless. I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. Just as I was about to put the phone back, my eyes caught his weather app. Orlando, FL: Sunny, 82°F Savannah, GA: Cloudy, 79°F Savannah? But we lived in New York. My fingers froze. My chest felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. Ryan had been to Savannah. Three months ago, for "work." In that single, gut-wrenching second, I knew. Ryan was cheating on me. The water in the bathroom shut off. Ryan walked out, toweling his hair, and saw me holding his phone. He smiled. "How's the inspection going? Find anything interesting?" His tone was so light, almost teasing, as if he was certain I'd find nothing. I forced the corners of my mouth up. "Just browsing." He walked over, leaned down, and kissed my forehead, his damp hair brushing against my cheek. "Send me a few of the pictures from today. I want to post one." I nodded, selecting a few and sending them over. He looked down at his phone, a smile playing on his lips as his fingers tapped the screen. "This one's perfect." I leaned over to look. It was a photo of my back as I stood under the fireworks, my curled hair cascading down. My style was so different from the straight hair I'd worn for years that from a distance, you could barely tell it was me. "I'm posting this one," he said. I stared at his screen, my throat dry. "But… you can't even see my face." He didn't look up. "It's all about the vibe. It's a great shot. Besides, all my friends know you're my girlfriend." A few minutes later, his Instagram was updated. The caption: "Showcasing what I've learned." My heart shattered. He wasn't posting it for me. He was posting it for the person who taught him photography. Later that night, tucked under the covers, I smothered my ragged sobs into the pillow. The tears that soaked the fabric were my only release. Over and over, one word echoed in my mind. Why? I had been betrayed. But why Ryan? Why the man who had pulled me from the depths of my despair? Why the man I had loved for five years? I wanted so desperately to lie to myself again. But it was impossible, not when the video of the two of them was still saved on my phone. 2 I barely slept. As dawn broke, painting the sky in pale shades of grey, Ryan was still fast asleep, his breathing even and deep. I slipped out of bed and walked to the window. The Orlando morning was cool and damp. I opened my phone and went to the single account Ryan followed on TikTok. Sometimes you have to marvel at technology. It knows not just big data, but the secrets of the human heart. I never used the app, yet the first video it ever pushed to my feed was proof of my boyfriend's affair. I clicked on the girl's profile. Her username was @CurlsAndClicks. Her profile picture was a backlit silhouette, her long, curly hair caught in the wind. I scrolled down, finding her very first video, posted on March 4th. In it, Ryan was standing under a massive, moss-draped oak tree in what looked like a park in Savannah. Sunlight dappled his shoulders through the leaves. He looked a little awkward, smiling at the camera, as a girl's bright voice came from off-screen: "Come on, handsome, work with me! Just one shot!" So that's how they met. She was a street photographer. That's where Ryan learned his new skills. I stared at the screen. The ends of the girl's hair, occasionally visible in the frame, were about the same length as mine, with a gentle curl. From a distance, she looked eerily similar to the silhouette in the photo he’d posted to his Instagram. So, when he posted that photo, was he thinking of her? I scrolled mechanically through her feed. There were seven videos featuring him in total. From March 1st to May 31st. I watched them hundreds of times, like a mini-series, witnessing their journey from strangers exchanging pleasantries to the easy intimacy of two people who know each other well. The last video was from the day before Ryan’s "business trip" ended. He was at a train station, looking down at her, his eyes filled with a tenderness that stabbed me in the heart. The girl's voice was full of laughter. "Next time you see me, you better bring me a cheesecake from New York." Ryan reached out and gently tucked a curl behind her ear. "I will," he said softly. "And next time, I'll style your hair even better for you." His words from yesterday morning echoed in my ears: The curve… it should be wider, I think. So that was it. All the little details I had deliberately ignored over the past few months now flooded my mind. Ryan and I used to be inseparable. We’d video call on our lunch breaks and stay on the phone until we fell asleep. But ever since his trip to Savannah, my calls had started going unanswered more and more often. I told myself he was busy with work, but it only got worse after he came back. He, who used to hate texting, was now glued to his phone, a small smile constantly playing on his lips. When I asked who he was talking to, he wouldn't even look up. "Just the project team. We're finally making progress on the proposal." I was happy for him at the time. We had started talking about getting married a year ago. I came from a single-parent family, and my mom had passed away, but Ryan's parents adored me. All that was left was for him to propose. I waited and waited. What I got instead was him pulling away. He had rejected my advances three times since he got back from his trip. Each time, it was, "I'm sorry, Lucy, I'm just so swamped with work. Can we wait a few days?" Eventually, he stopped giving me the chance to even try, either falling asleep early or hiding away in his study. How pathetic. I'd actually booked a Botox consultation, thinking I’d lost my appeal. I even secretly saw a therapist, wondering if I was just being overly sensitive. Now I knew the truth. His heart had been occupied by someone else for a long time. I closed the video, took a deep breath, and opened a travel app. I quickly booked two train tickets to Savannah. Then, I turned, walked back to the bed, and gently shook Ryan's shoulder. "Wake up. Change of plans." He blinked his eyes open, his voice raspy. "...What?" "I want to go to Savannah." His pupils contracted. He was instantly wide awake. "Savannah? Why the sudden change?" "Isn't that where you were on your business trip for three months?" I tilted my head, my tone light and breezy. "I want to see it." He shot up in bed, his brow furrowed, a machine-gun spray of objections firing from his lips. "But we're not done in Orlando! We only spent one day at Disney!" "And you've always wanted to stay at the Grand Floridian! We waited a month for this reservation. It would be a shame to cancel." "And what about that restaurant you've been dying to try..." "None of that matters anymore," I interrupted, waving my phone. "A friend gave me two concert tickets. My favorite artist. It's in Savannah." His expression froze for a second, then visibly relaxed. "...A concert?" "Yep. They added a last-minute show. The tickets were impossible to get." I stared into his eyes. "You don't want to go with me?" "Of course I do!" he exclaimed, scrambling out of bed so quickly it was as if he was afraid I'd change my mind. "I'll pack our bags right now." I watched his hurried retreat, a corner of the wedding veil I'd packed peeking out of his suitcase. A slow smile spread across my face. "I'm looking forward to it, too." 3 On the train to Savannah, Ryan was unusually busy, taking one call after another. He stepped out into the corridor to talk, away from me. I didn't have the energy to care. The exhaustion from my sleepless night washed over me. In a drowsy haze, I thought I heard his voice. "Mom, yeah, change of plans... Yes, we're going to Savannah instead..." The concert was the next day. By the time we checked into our hotel, it was already evening. Ryan put away our luggage and boiled some water, playing the part of the perfect boyfriend. I sat down at the vanity and deliberately pushed the curling iron towards him. "I want curls again tonight." "My pleasure," he said with a smile, taking it and expertly sectioning my hair. Sunlight streamed through the sheer curtains, dancing on his focused expression. As the steam from the hot iron rose between us, he suddenly spoke. "Lucy, after the concert tomorrow night..." "Hm?" "...I have a surprise for you." The tips of his ears turned a faint red, and he quickly changed the subject. "All done. What do you think? Do you like it?" I examined my reflection from all angles. It was uncanny. It looked more and more like hers. The curve of the waves was identical to the girl's in the video. I nodded. "Your skills are getting seriously good." "By the way," I said casually, applying my lipstick, "I hired a street photographer for tonight. The city is supposed to be beautiful at night. I want to get some couples photos." "Great idea!" His eyes lit up, and he picked up his camera, mimicking a shot. "Maybe I can steal a few tricks from them." Seeing the smile on his lips, I mirrored it with my own. "You'd better pay close attention, then." 4 The riverfront in Savannah was bustling with tourists as evening fell. I clung affectionately to Ryan's arm. When the familiar, curly-haired figure appeared at our designated meeting spot, I felt the man beside me go completely rigid. "Hi!" I waved enthusiastically. "You must be Kathy, right?" 5 The girl’s smile froze the moment she saw Ryan. The two of them stood as if petrified, the very air around them seeming to stop. "What's wrong?" I tilted my head, my face a mask of confusion. "You two look like you've seen a ghost... Do you know each other?" "No!" Ryan snapped back to reality, his voice an octave too high. "We don't!" The girl—Kathy—turned deathly pale, her fingers clutching the strap of her camera. I let go of Ryan's arm and stepped forward to link my arm with hers. "You're so pretty! And our hair is almost the same! Did you curl it yourself? You're so talented." "I'm hopeless at it. My boyfriend always has to do it for me. He's amazing at it." One of my sentences must have flipped a switch. Kathy's eyes instantly welled with tears, but she forced herself to speak. "Really? It looks... beautiful." "Are you... ready? We can start whenever you are." Throughout the entire photoshoot, Ryan's expression grew more and more strained. I, on the other hand, was having the time of my life, pulling him into one pose after another. The more intimate our poses became, the slower her shutter clicked. "Are we done?" she finally asked, her voice choked with emotion. "I'm... I'm not feeling my best today..." "What's wrong?" I asked with feigned concern. She shot a panicked glance at Ryan, who quickly looked away. "I just... broke up with someone. I'm sorry. There's no charge for today." "He's a dog," I said, patting her shoulder comfortingly. "They all are." "Thanks for the free session. I want to post these tonight. Could you send them to me as soon as possible?" Kathy nodded frantically. But Ryan suddenly stepped forward, told Kathy to open her Venmo, and sent her the money. "You earned it," he said curtly. Then he grabbed my arm and practically dragged me away. I looked back over my shoulder and waved at Kathy. "Don't forget the photos!~" Ryan walked so fast he didn't look back once. I watched his retreating back and let a wide, unrestrained smile spread across my face. The show was just getting started. 6 Back at the hotel, Ryan masked his emotions with terrifying speed. He casually put my bag away and thoughtfully turned up the air conditioning. I sat on the bed, scrolling through the photos Kathy had just sent. I zoomed in on one. "This girl is really talented, isn't she?" Ryan's hands, which were busy unpacking, paused. He asked, feigning indifference, "Where did you find this photographer?" "A friend recommended her," I said without looking up. "The same one who gave me the concert tickets." His breath hitched for a fraction of a second. "Which friend? How come I don't know them?" "A new contractor from work," I said, still scrolling nonchalantly through my phone. "I'll introduce you next time." Ryan suddenly got up and wrapped his arms around me from behind, his warm lips pressing urgently against my neck. "Babe, it's been so long. I want you..." His heartbeat was heavy and fast against my back, as if he was seeking some kind of confirmation. "Stop..." I coughed twice and pushed him away. "It's so windy tonight. I think I'm catching a cold." He immediately let go, a flicker of genuine panic in his eyes. "I'll go make you some medicine." As I watched him hurry away, I opened my Instagram and carefully selected nine of Kathy's photos. The caption: "Met the most amazing photographer! So much better than some people I know~ " Less than three minutes after I posted it, Kathy's account updated with a new text-only post. No picture, just a single line: "I still couldn't help myself. I needed to see you." I turned off my screen just as I heard Ryan's footsteps approaching with a mug. "Drink this while it's hot," he said, his voice gentle. "You need to be in top shape for the concert tomorrow." I took the mug with a smile. "You too."
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