His Number Changed So I Changed My Life Chapter 01
I can see how many people someone has had sex with.
In college, two men confessed their feelings for me on the same day.
Austin Westbrook came from money. The number above his head was 8.
Parker Miller was putting himself through school on scholarships. The number above his head was 0.
I accepted Parker’s flowers.
After we got married, his number became 1.
For the next seven years, even after he won an Oscar, that number held steady.
Not until a bright, bubbly young actress joined the cast of a fantasy series he was guest-starring in.
He said Madison Reed had a true gift for acting. They often stayed late, running lines deep into the night.
During close-quarters fight scenes, he would take her by the hand and patiently guide her through each movement.
“Madison is incredibly gifted,” he told me. “I haven’t seen a newcomer with her talent in a long time.”
I looked at the unchanged number above his head and chose to believe him.
After the show wrapped, they seemed to fall out of touch.
I thought our life was unchanged.
But on an ordinary Tuesday night, the number above his head changed from 1 to 2.
…
I stared at the bright red 2 hovering above his head.
My mind went completely silent. The knot of tension I’d been carrying for months, the dread of waiting for the other shoe to drop, finally dissolved.
He didn’t notice a thing.
He took off his coat and came up behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist just like he always did. He rested his chin on my shoulder and complained that filming had run late again.
He acted like nothing had happened.
Over the years, he had become more and more magnetic on-screen.
He had the kind of eyes that were made for the big screen. Critics joked that from now on, every romantic hero in every novel would suddenly have his face.
Until today, no one would have guessed that he’d only ever had one sexual partner: me.
Now, I wasn’t his only one.
Once you know the outcome, tracing the path that led you there is simple.
Late that night, long after he’d fallen into a deep sleep, I picked up his phone.
The passcode was still my birthday.
I checked his texts, his Instagram DMs, his entire call log. On the surface, everything looked normal.
But that number had never lied to me.
I discovered this ability in the eighth grade. The first person it exposed was my father.
He was a media executive, always playing the part of the devoted family man in public.
But within a single month, the number above his head ticked up several times.
I refused to believe it, so one day I followed him when he left the office.
I saw him walk out of an apartment building, the number above his head having just increased by one.
After that, I never doubted what I saw again.
At the bottom of Parker’s contacts, I found a number with no name attached.
The most recent call had lasted an hour and forty-six minutes.
I pressed the number. A soft ringtone chimed a few times before someone picked up.
A familiar, sweet voice purred, “Calling so late? Aren’t you afraid your wife will find out?”
She laughed softly.
“Or did one night with me already leave you wanting more?”
I didn’t answer.
I hung up and deleted the record of the outgoing call.
I sat on the sofa, his phone cold in my hand. It was a long time before the pain finally hit, a dull ache spreading through my chest.
The last of my hope was gone.