A story of a bald man who somehow still needed shampoo…
Chapter 1: A Pandemic, A Job, and A Man Named Nate
2020 was a strange year. The world was in lockdown, people were baking banana bread like their lives depended on it, and I was unemployed, stuck scrolling through job sites hoping for a miracle.
That’s when I met Nate.
It was on a work search app—of all places. He reached out first, his message short and to the point.
“Hey, I saw your profile. I think I can help you find a job.”
I won’t lie—I was excited. Not just because of the job offer, but because Nate had that easy confidence that made you believe him. He had a deep voice, laughed easily, and sent the kind of texts that made you check your phone twice.
We talked for weeks. First about work, then about life. And then, somehow, about us.
Looking back, the first red flag was right there—I was supposed to be networking, and instead, I was falling for a man I had never met.
But I ignored it.
Because, well… COVID was lonely, and Nate sounded like a good idea.
Chapter 2: The First Night
When we finally met in person, it was at my place.
I know. Risky. But it was the pandemic, and I wasn’t about to go anywhere that involved hand sanitizer stations and people standing six feet apart like we were all in some weird, apocalyptic movie.
So, he came over.
A few drinks. Some food. His laughter filling my small apartment, making it feel less lonely.
One thing led to another.
Judge me if you must. But in that moment, he felt like a safe place.
The next morning, we lay in bed, talking about nothing and everything. He made me laugh. He made me feel wanted.
And just like that, we became a thing.
Or at least, that’s what I thought.
Chapter 3: The Photo Album
The first sleepover at his place should have been magical. Instead, it was the first time I felt the chill of doubt.
I woke up before him and decided to wander around his apartment. Nothing too intrusive—just a quick scan of my potential future living space (a girl can dream, right?).
That’s when I saw it.
A dusty photo album, half-buried on a shelf.
I should have left it alone. But curiosity and poor decision-making are a powerful combination.
I opened it.
Page after page of happy family photos. A beautiful woman. A child.
Not his mom. Not his sister.
His wife and child.
My stomach tightened.
When Nate finally walked in, stretching like he had all the time in the world, I held up the album. “Who are they?”
He barely blinked. No panic. Just a sigh. “That’s my ex and our son. We broke up a few years ago.”
I should have asked why he still kept their pictures on display. I should have asked why his “ex” still looked very much present in his life.
Instead, I nodded.
And ignored the second red flag.
Chapter 4: The Shampoo Incident
Weeks passed. The doubt faded. I convinced myself I was overthinking.
Until the shower incident.
I was staying over at Nate’s again. He had gone out to pick up food, and I decided to take a shower. That’s when I saw it—a bottle of shampoo sitting neatly in the corner of the bathtub.
A normal thing to find in a bathroom.
Except Nate was bald.
Not a “shaves occasionally” kind of bald. No. The “not a single hair follicle in sight” kind of bald.
I held up the bottle when he got back. “Whose is this?”
He barely looked at it. “Oh, that? Probably old. No idea where it came from.”
Lies.
Bold-faced, insult-your-intelligence lies.
Did I press him? No.
Did I pretend it was totally normal for a bald man to own shampoo? Yes.
Did I ignore yet another red flag? Absolutely.
Chapter 5: The Friday Night That Changed Everything
Then came Friday. The night that shattered whatever illusion I had been clinging to.
Nate had been calling me all day.
“What time are you coming?”
“Are you leaving soon?”
“How long will you take?”
The eagerness was unusual. But instead of finding it odd, I felt flattered.
So, at exactly 8:40 p.m., I arrived at his place and called him.
No answer.
Weird.
I called again. Still nothing.
Something felt off.
I went to a nearby restaurant, ordered a coffee, and waited.
Thirty minutes later, I tried again.
This time, he picked up. His voice was rushed. “Sorry, I’m sending someone to get you.”
Minutes later, his friend showed up. They lived in the same area, so it wasn’t completely strange.
But instead of taking me to Nate’s house, he took me to his own.
I frowned. “Why are we here?”
His friend shrugged. “Nate’s a little busy right now. Just chill here for a bit.”
Busy.
I should have left.
But I waited.
An hour passed. Then another.
It was nearly midnight when Nate finally walked in.
I should have screamed at him. Should have demanded answers.
Instead, I let him pull me close. Let him kiss me. Let him touch me.
And yes, I slept with him.
Even when everything inside me screamed that something wasn’t right.
The next morning, the truth finally came out.
Nate’s wife had shown up unannounced.
Yes, the same “ex” he claimed was long gone.
That’s why he ignored my calls. That’s why his friend had to keep me away.
Because while I sat there, waiting for him, he had been with her.
And the worst part?
I still let him come to me.
I still let him in.
And I regret every bit of it.
If a man makes you sit in a restaurant for hours while his wife is at his house, girl—the bar isn’t just low. It’s in hell.
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