Deleted: How I Erased My Cheating Boyfriend's Future With One Click

The Perfect Boyfriend

My name is Tessa, and I'm a 28-year-old marketing coordinator living in Boston. For almost three years now, I've been dating Mark, who I've always believed is the perfect boyfriend—brilliant, dedicated, and genuinely in love with me.

We met at my friend Jamie's housewarming party, where he charmed me with his knowledge of obscure films and ability to make even the most mundane topics fascinating.

Our relationship has been mostly smooth sailing—we moved in together after a year, adopted a cat named Professor, and even started talking about our future together.

But lately, things have changed. For the past six months, Mark has been completely consumed by this major research paper that could supposedly launch his academic career.

He's constantly hunched over his laptop until 3 AM, canceling our plans last minute, and barely sleeping.

I've been nothing but supportive—cooking his favorite meals, giving him space to work, and even offering to help with proofreading.

'You're my rock, Tessa,' he always says with that tired smile that makes my heart melt. Little did I know that behind that smile was something that would shatter everything I thought we had built together.

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The Research Paper

Mark's research paper has completely taken over our lives for the past six months. Our once-cozy apartment has transformed into what I jokingly call 'Academia Central'—coffee cups multiplying like rabbits, sticky notes plastered on every surface, and academic journals stacked so high they've become makeshift end tables.

Mark is pursuing his PhD in sociology, and this paper isn't just any assignment—it's his golden ticket to a prestigious grant that could launch his career.

'Just two more weeks,' he's been saying for months now. I've gotten used to the late-night typing sounds, his frustrated sighs when a reference doesn't pan out, and the constant rain check on our date nights.

Last weekend, we were supposed to attend my college roommate's wedding, but Mark couldn't tear himself away from his laptop.

I went alone, explaining his absence to everyone who asked. 'He's changing the world one paragraph at a time,' I told them, trying to sound proud rather than disappointed.

Despite everything, I admire his dedication. The way his eyes light up when he talks about his research makes all the sacrifices worth it.

Or at least that's what I kept telling myself until I finally got a chance to read what he'd been working on all this time.

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The Supportive Girlfriend

I've become Mark's personal assistant these past months. Every morning, I wake up early to make his favorite breakfast—avocado toast with poached eggs and that fancy coffee he loves.

I've learned to tiptoe around the apartment during his 'deep work' hours and mastered the art of organizing his chaotic research notes into color-coded folders.

When he mumbles academic jargon at dinner, I nod and ask thoughtful questions, even though half the time I have no idea what he's talking about.

I've canceled girls' nights, rescheduled doctor's appointments, and even put my own career aspirations on hold—all to create the perfect environment for his genius to flourish.

So when Mark approached me last night, dark circles under his eyes, and asked if I'd proofread his final draft, I felt this surge of pride.

'I trust your eye more than anyone's,' he said, squeezing my hand. 'You've been my saving grace through all of this.

' The way he looked at me—like I was his anchor in a stormy academic sea—made all those sacrifices feel worthwhile.

I agreed immediately, of course. After all, what kind of girlfriend wouldn't want to be part of such an important milestone?

Little did I know that clicking 'open' on that document would be the beginning of the end for us.

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The Document

I settled onto our worn leather couch, laptop balanced on my knees, and opened Mark's document. The file took several seconds to load—not surprising given its size.

'This is what six months of obsession looks like,' I thought, scrolling through the first few pages. His writing was impressive, I had to admit.

Clear, methodical, with that touch of brilliance that had attracted me to him in the first place. I fixed a few typos, adjusted some awkward phrasing, and continued working my way through.

About halfway through page 42, something caught my eye—a small blue comment bubble in the margin. Thinking it was just a note to himself or maybe a question for his advisor, I clicked on it.

My stomach instantly knotted. It wasn't academic at all. It was a copied text conversation between Mark and someone named 'Liv.

' And it wasn't just any conversation. 'Miss your body already. Can't wait to see you tomorrow while Tessa's at work.

' I blinked hard, reading it again. The shower was still running in the background as I clicked another comment bubble, then another.

Each one revealed more messages—intimate, explicit exchanges that made it crystal clear what had been happening behind my back all these months.

And the worst part? They were laughing about me.

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