Every morning after her shifts, my girlfriend would come straight to my place like clockwork. One day, that changed without explanation. What began as silence turned into a truth I never expected, one that changed everything I thought I knew about my own home.
My girlfriend, Rachel, works brutal 12-hour overnight shifts at the hospital from 7 p.m.
to 7 a.m.
Most mornings, she’d come straight to my mom’s place after work, until she suddenly stopped. I made a big decision when I discovered the truth behind her changed behavior.
Rachel would usually arrive at my place, which was closer to her work, around 8:15 a.m.
She’d take a quick shower by 8:30 a.m. and crash in my bed until the late afternoon.
That was our rhythm.
It wasn’t fancy, but it was ours.
It remained that way for many weeks, until one Wednesday morning, I got a short text: “Heading straight home, will text later.” I didn’t think much of it. She was probably exhausted and wanted her own space. I DoorDashed her some breakfast and let it go.
But the next day, the same thing happened.
And the day after that.
My girlfriend suddenly stopped coming altogether during the week.
We started only seeing each other on weekends, and even that depended on our schedules syncing up, which was rare. Some weeks, we didn’t see each other at all.
Every time I asked her why she wasn’t coming over anymore, she’d dodge the question or change the subject.
Once, I asked, “Did something happen here? With my mom or something?” She laughed nervously and said, “No, just tired.
Don’t worry about it.”
But I did worry.
It got weirder when I forgot some important work papers at her place.
She was supposed to bring them over and drop them off with my mom so I could grab them during my lunch break. Instead, she refused.
“I just… can’t,” she said on the phone.
I pressed. “Rachel, come on.
You know I need those documents urgently and will get into trouble if I can’t produce them.
It’s just my mom. You two always got along.”
“I know.
I just… not now. Please don’t make me.”
That was the moment I knew something was wrong.
This was not about her being just tired or busy; something had changed.
We’d never had such an issue before, and now it was niggling me.
So that weekend, I asked her if I could come over to her place. She opened the door, dressed in sweats, dark circles under her eyes, looking like she hadn’t slept right in weeks. She made me some coffee, and we sat down at the kitchen table while her grandmother was out.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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