When Emily ordered pizza while her fiancé was out of town, she expected a quiet night alone, not a message that would unravel her life. Little did she know, the delivery would save her from a disastrous marriage. Living with Jake felt like being stuck in a comfortable routine. Our small apartment, with its cozy throws and mismatched cushions, was our haven—or so I thought.
I’m Emily, and for the past three years, Jake and I have made a habit out of simple pleasures. The most frequent one was ordering pizza from the same local spot on our lazy evenings. It was a ritual. Jake would browse through movie listings while I’d dial up our favorite pizzeria. Tom, the delivery guy, knew us by name. His visits were as regular as clockwork, complete with his cheerful “How’s it going?” that echoed through our small entryway. Tonight, however, it was just me. Jake was out of town on a business trip, and the quiet was louder than usual. I ordered a single pizza—my usual, pepperoni with extra cheese. When the doorbell rang,
it was Tom, as expected, but something about him was off tonight. His smile didn’t reach his eyes, and his hands seemed to shake a bit as he handed me the pizza box.” Evening, Emily. Jake’s not around tonight?” Tom asked, a slight quiver in his voice. “No, just me tonight,” I responded, trying to sound cheerful. Tom nodded, quickly turning on his heel to leave—too quickly, it seemed. As I shut the door, his behavior nagged at me. Was he okay? Shaking off the concern, I carried the warm box to the kitchen. The aroma of garlic and tomato sauce filled the air, a comfort that usually felt like a hug. But as I opened the box, my heart skipped a beat. There, scrawled across the inside lid of the box with a black Sharpie, was a message that read, ”