A scream rips me out of sleep like someone just set off a fire alarm inside my skull.
My eyes snap open, heart hammering against my ribs before my brain even catches up to what’s happening. I reach for Alyssa’s side of the bed on pure instinct, my hand finding nothing but cold sheets and rumpled blankets.
“Fuck.”
I’m already moving, stumbling out of bed with that particular brand of panic that only comes in the middle of the night. My feet hit the floor hard, and I nearly trip over yesterday’s jeans as I bolt toward the living room.
The sight that greets me stops me cold.
Alyssa’s curled up on the couch, her whole body shaking like she’s freezing to death despite the apartment being warm. Tears stream down her face in wet tracks that catch the dim light from the street outside. Her blonde hair hangs in messy curtains around her shoulders, and she’s rocking slightly back and forth.
“How could you do this...”
The words come out barely above a whisper, broken and raw.
I glance at the clock on the cable box. 3:07 AM glows back at me in harsh blue numbers.
“Alyssa?” I move closer, keeping my voice low and steady. “Are you okay?”
“How could you betray me like this...”
Same devastated tone. She’s not looking at me, her eyes fixed on something in her hands. Something that’s making her shake harder with each passing second.
“Why would you do this to me...”
I cross the remaining distance and sink down onto the couch next to her. The cushions dip under my weight, and she finally looks up at me. Her green eyes are completely bloodshot, mascara running down her cheeks in black streaks.
That’s when I see what she’s holding. My phone.
My stomach drops, but I keep my expression neutral. I reach out and cup her face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears even as new ones replace them.
“What’s wrong, Alyssa?”
The question comes out gentle and concerned.
“YOU BETRAYED ME!” The scream explodes out of her with enough force that I feel it in my chest. Her whole body goes rigid, every muscle tensing as her face transforms from devastated to absolutely furious. The shift is so fast it’s almost impressive.
I blink. Take a breath. My pulse is still racing from being yanked out of sleep, but I force my voice to come out steady.
“I know I haven’t betrayed you.” The words hang in the air between us. Her face is twisted with fury, tears still streaming, but I keep my hands on her cheeks. “So whatever’s upsetting you right now, I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
She shoves my phone in my face so hard I have to lean back slightly to focus on the screen.
Instagram. My account. The following list.
I scan down the names and profile pictures. My brain catalogs them with the detached efficiency of someone who’s too tired to feel embarrassed. Mostly models. Women in bikinis. Women in lingerie. A few OnlyFans links in their bios that I’ve never paid for because I’m way too lazy to pay for porn.
Sydney Sweeney’s verified account sits near the top.
“I see…”
I watch Alyssa’s face contort further, fresh tears spilling over as she waits for me to say something that will make this worse.
“I mean... I followed them before I met you.”
Alyssa’s breathing gets faster. Sharper. Her hands tighten around my phone until her knuckles go white.
“Before you met me?” Her voice drops to something dangerous and quiet. “Before you met your WIFE?”
“Alyssa…”
“HOW MANY?” She’s screaming again, shoving the phone closer to my face. “How many of these whores are you following, Caleb? How many half-naked sluts do you look at while I’m sleeping next to you?”
I stare at her. The fury radiating off her body is almost tangible, like heat waves coming off pavement in summer. But underneath it, I can see the fear. The raw, desperate need for reassurance that’s making her shake even harder than the anger.
“Alyssa.” My voice comes out quiet. Steady. “Since I’ve met you, I haven’t even had time to look at Instagram.”
She freezes. The phone drops slightly in her grip, and I watch confusion flicker across her tear-streaked face. Like she wants to lash out but suddenly can’t figure out what direction to aim it in. Her mouth opens, closes, opens again.
“You want me to unfollow them?” I shrug, my hands still cupping her face. “I don’t even care.”
“WELL OBVIOUSLY!”
The words explode out of her with renewed fury, but there’s something different now. Something less certain underneath the rage. She yanks my phone back, fingers moving with violent efficiency across the screen.
I watch her work. Tap, tap, tap. Each unfollow happens with methodical precision, her jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping in her cheek. The tears keep flowing, but her movements are steady. Determined.
“Three hundred and twenty-two,” she mutters, scrolling faster. “Three hundred and twenty-two WHORES.”
She keeps going. The list shrinks with each furious tap of her finger. I watch the numbers drop in the corner of the screen.
322.
300.
250.
200.
Her breathing starts to even out slightly as she works, like the act of eliminating each one is somehow therapeutic. Like she’s physically removing threats from my life one Instagram model at a time.
100.
50.
Finally, she slows down. The scrolling becomes less frantic. She purges the final few accounts.
Then she stops completely.
Her thumb hovers over the screen, frozen mid-motion. I watch her stare at my phone, her expression shifting from righteous fury to something else entirely. Something that makes my chest tighten.
“You...” Her voice comes out small. Confused. “You only had one real friend on here?”
I lean forward slightly to see what she’s looking at. Josh’s profile picture stares back at me.
“Josh is my only friend period, Alyssa.”
Her face goes pale.
“Well...” Her voice cracks slightly. “Me too, right?”
The panic in her eyes is so raw it almost makes me laugh. Here she is, having just deleted three hundred and twenty-two accounts in a jealous rage, suddenly terrified that she doesn’t count as my friend.
I smile despite myself. “Yes. Of course you too.”
“But I’m your wife, too.” The words come out fast, desperate for clarification.
“Correct.”
Her face transforms. The panic melts away, replaced by this delirious smile that spreads across her face like sunrise. She looks drunk on the words, swaying slightly where she sits.
“Wife first,” she says, her voice taking on this breathless quality. “But also best friends.”
I nod. “Yes. Best friends.”
She practically collapses against me, her body going soft as she curls into my side. The phone stays clutched in her hand, but her other arm wraps around my waist with desperate possessiveness. She nuzzles her face against my chest, and I can feel her breathing start to even out.
“Okay good,” she whispers against my shirt.
I watch her thumb start moving across the screen again. She’s not done with my phone yet apparently. The fury has burned itself out, leaving behind this manic curiosity as she scrolls through my apps.
She opens YouTube.
She navigates to my history. Her scrolling picks up speed, becoming frantic again but in a different way. Not angry. Confused. She’s rubbing against me like a cat the entire time.
“Caleb...” Her voice carries genuine bewilderment. “I don’t understand what I’m looking at.”
I lean over to see what’s got her so confused. My YouTube history fills the screen. Video after video of the same basic concept, just with different games.
I sigh. “It’s famous video game music remade with the Seinfeld sounds.”
She stops scrolling. Stares at the screen. Then back up at me.
“Okay...” The word comes out slow, uncertain.
She doesn’t get it at all. I can see it in her face, the complete lack of comprehension about why anyone would want to listen to the Zelda theme played with bass slaps and keyboard stabs from a nineties sitcom.
“It’s funny,” I offer weakly.
“Is it though?” She keeps staring at my phone like it might suddenly make sense if she looks hard enough. “This is what you do in your free time?”
I glance at the screen again, then back at her. The absurdity of defending my YouTube history to my unhinged wife at three in the morning hits me like a wave.
“Big words for a traitor.”
Her head snaps up so fast I hear her neck crack. “I’M NOT A TRAITOR! A WIFE IS ALLOWED TO GO THROUGH HER HUSBAND’S PHONE!”
“No.” I keep my tone level, watching her face cycle through confusion. “I’m calling you a traitor because you sell state secrets to China.”
“Ohhhhh!” She actually laughs, this breathless sound of pure relief, and lays her head back down on my chest. Her hair spills across my shirt as she nuzzles closer. “That’s what you meant.”
I feel her breathing even out against me. The panic that was driving her just seconds ago has completely evaporated, replaced by this comfortable contentment. Like being accused of treason is somehow less threatening than being called out for invading my privacy.
Her body stays relaxed for maybe thirty seconds.
Then she jerks upright again, her face twisted with renewed indignation.
“HEY! WHAT! NUH UH!” She shoves at my chest with both hands, her voice rising with each syllable. “I don’t sell secrets to China! And…”
“Alyssa.” I cut her off, my exhaustion finally catching up with the adrenaline that’s been keeping me upright. “Let’s go to bed. I’m exhausted.”
She opens her mouth, probably to launch into another defense or accusation or declaration of love. But then she looks at my face. Really looks at it. Whatever she sees there makes her close her mouth again.
“Fine.” The word comes out small and pouty, but she’s already standing up, pulling me with her by the hand. My phone stays clutched in her other hand like a trophy she’s not quite ready to relinquish.