My girlfriend was ready to leave me over “proof” of my infidelity. I had to pay a forensic expert to trace the IP address, only to find the hacker was knitting a scarf in the next room.
I thought my relationship with Sarah was solid. We had been living together for two years, talking about marriage, and surviving the chaos of hosting family for the holidays. But last Tuesday, I came home to find Sarah sitting on the edge of the bed, suitcases packed.
“Don’t lie to me,” she said, her voice shaking. She turned her phone around. On the screen were screenshots of a text conversation. My Number: “I can’t wait to see you tonight. She doesn’t suspect a thing.” Mystery Woman: “Are you sure you can get away?”
I stared at it. It looked real. The timestamp was from when I was at the gym. But I knew I hadn’t sent it. “Sarah, this is fake,” I pleaded. “I was at the gym. Check the security cameras! Check my phone!”
“You could have deleted them,” she cried. “The number matches, Mark!”
She was right. The sender ID was spoofed to look exactly like my number. Whoever did this knew what they were doing.
The investigation
I begged her for 24 hours. “Give me one day to prove it’s not me. If I can’t, you can leave.” She agreed, but she slept in the guest room—well, she tried to. My grandmother, Nana Rose, was currently occupying the guest room for her month-long visit, so Sarah took the couch.
I called my friend Dave, who works in cybersecurity. He came over with his laptop and hooked it up to our network. “If they used an app to spoof the number, there might be a digital footprint,” Dave said. “Let me see the metadata of the screenshots Sarah received.”
He analyzed the image files. He traced the routing number of the text app used to generate the messages. Then, he frowned. “Mark,” he said. “This is weird.”
“What? Is it my ex?” I asked, pacing.
“No,” Dave said. “The IP address that generated these messages… it’s local.” “Local? like in the city?” “No,” Dave whispered. “Local as in this house. The device is connected to your WiFi right now.”
The Ping
My blood ran cold. “Is it Sarah? Is she faking it to break up with me?” “Let’s find out,” Dave said. “I’m going to ping the device. It should make a noise.”
He hit a key. From down the hallway, in the guest room, a muffled beep sounded. It wasn’t Sarah’s phone. Sarah was in the kitchen making tea.
I walked down the hall. My heart was pounding. I pushed open the guest room door. My grandmother, Nana Rose—a sweet, 78-year-old woman who baked cookies and knitted sweaters—was sitting in the rocking chair. When I walked in, she jumped. She quickly shoved something under her ball of yarn.
“Nana?” I asked. “Oh, hello dear,” she smiled innocently. “Just working on your scarf.”
“Nana, lift up the yarn.” “Don’t be silly,” she said, her grip tightening.
I reached over and moved the wool. There, glowing softly, was a cheap prepaid smartphone.
The Motive
Sarah and Dave were behind me now. The silence was deafening. “Nana,” I said, picking up the phone. The spoofing app was still open. “Did you send these?”
She sighed, dropped her knitting needles, and looked me dead in the eye. The sweet grandmother act evaporated. “She’s not right for you, Mark,” she said, pointing a shaking finger at Sarah. “You need a doctor. Or a lawyer. Someone with status. Sarah is a graphic designer. She’ll never help you climb the social ladder.”
“So you framed me for cheating?” I shouted. “I was trying to save you!” she snapped. “I have a lovely girl from my bridge club’s granddaughter lined up. She’s a dermatologist. If Sarah left, you’d be free.”
The Fallout
Sarah didn’t know whether to laugh or scream. She chose to scream. “Get out,” Sarah told my grandmother. “Get out of my house.”
“You can’t kick me out, I’m family!” Nana Rose gasped, looking at me for support.
“You tried to destroy my life,” I said. “Pack your bags, Nana. Mom is coming to pick you up.”
The Aftermath
My mother was horrified when she arrived. She drove Nana Rose home in silence. It turns out, this wasn’t the first time; she had apparently meddled in my cousin’s marriage three years ago, causing a divorce that everyone thought was due to “irreconcilable differences.”
Sarah unpacked her bags. We’re still together, but we have a new rule: No houseguests for longer than three days. And absolutely no one is allowed on the WiFi without a full background check.
