Worst Breakup Ever

I decided to change names as to not destroy the already deflating ego of a diabolical cheater.

I was sitting in the kitchen drinking coffee when I heard a soft knock at the door. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and I felt as if the person knocking regretted the knock as soon as they did it. I opened the door and was surprised to see a beautiful brown haired girl standing in front of me. A few awkward glances at each other and I said, "Can I help you?" She started scrunching her shirt and I felt as though she was scared. I was ready to shut the door when she asked if Luke was home. Annoyed with the fact that another girl was looking for my boyfriend, I asked her who she was and why she was looking for him.

Again, she said, “Is Luke home, yes or no?”

Irritated with her response I snapped, and said, “No, my boyfriend isn’t home so what do you want?!”

She looked at me as if I’d killed her kitten. I threw my hands up in the air and repeated myself, “WHAT DO YOU WANT?”

She seemed no younger than 18, but no older than 20. She straightened her back and said, “I was told he was at his cousins house and was given this address... did you say your boyfriend?”

I let out a sarcastic laugh and said, “Luke lives here, he’s my boyfriend and I can assure you we aren’t cousins.”

I don’t know what possessed me to invite her in, but I did. I offered her coffee, but she declined. She kept looking at me and, finally, I asked what her deal was. At this point I’m thinking I must be crazy! I have a girl in my house asking around about my boyfriend, but she won’t tell me why and I have now invited her into our home.

I was about to ask her another question when she opened her mouth and said, “My name is Sophie and Luke is MY boyfriend.”

I nearly choked on my sip of coffee when she said that. I would have slapped her and told her she was mental but I held back, eager to hear what she had to say.

“I’m here because he hasn’t answered my calls or texts and he needs to know...”

Through clenched teeth, I say, “Know what?” What she said next was exactly what I expected.

“I’m 14 weeks pregnant...”

I couldn’t believe how composed I was after having just confirmed my suspicions. I kindly asked her to leave my house. She gave me a confused look and told me that she wouldn’t blame me if I hated her, she deserves my hate. She went on about how she never wanted to be the other woman, how her mother raised her better. I walked to the front door, with silent tears dripping down my face.

I open the door turn to her and simply told her, “I can’t hate someone that I feel sorry for.”

Her eyes went wide, ready to say something, but I closed the door, not giving her a chance. I called into work and started packing my bags. I called my landlord and terminated my rental contract earlier than expected. I let her know that I would vacate, effective immediately, and that the second roomie had a 24 hour notice to leave.

A few hours later I was about to call Luke, but as soon as I picked up the phone he was walking in. Dumbfounded and shocked, he asked what was going on. He took a look around before meeting my gaze. I walked across the room and slapped him hard. With tears in my eyes I told him everything that happened today, from meeting Sophie to finding out about the baby he genuinely knew nothing about—but how could he? He wasn’t answering the poor girl's calls. I looked at him and thought about how we had been trying to conceive for months, and, at first, I thought it was me. I thought I was the problem, except he was never fully committed to us. I grabbed my bag and told him he had 16 hours to move out because the apartment was no longer mine. I walked out and figured his absence to fight for our relationship was mute, considering that, even if he wanted another chance, I was all out of chances to give.