Speaker 1: By five thirty, the city was already turning dim and blue,
Speaker 1: the kind of Seattle evening where the air curled under coats,
Speaker 1: hands jammed in pockets, clouds threatening but not quite raining.
Speaker 1: I clacked past Beltown commuters and tourists, mentally running through
Speaker 1: the week, j Ira dashboards, O k rs blown up
Speaker 1: by scope, creep, pivot, pivot, pivot, until Monica texted your
Speaker 1: late drink's getting warm, with a usual string of lemon emojis.
Speaker 1: A little ritual Friday happy hour, the one constant in
Speaker 1: a sea of debugging, marathons and slack pings at one
Speaker 1: a m. No matter what, Rob and I met at
Speaker 1: a hackathon five years ago, and since the week we
Speaker 1: started dating, we always made Friday sacred, unplugged, face to face,
Speaker 1: one round each of choosing terrible cocktails and swapping war stories.
Speaker 1: This mattered even if everything else in our lives shifted.
Speaker 1: But at five fifteen, just a block from my off,
Speaker 1: my phone buzzed. I expected robs familiar dot dot dot
Speaker 1: always some snarky meme or how many minutes eat ta,
Speaker 1: but instead can't make it heads down in sprint mode. Sorry, Han,
Speaker 1: you have fun though, Love you. I stopped walking, thumb hovering.
Speaker 1: It was efficient and vague, more project plan than greeting.
Speaker 1: For a moment, I considered calling, seeing if he needed anything,
Speaker 1: maybe just some company and take out. But then I
Speaker 1: let myself feel a little annoyed and a little relieved.
Speaker 1: To night I could actually vent about work without defending
Speaker 1: the Wozniak side of every start up debate. I texted
Speaker 1: back a heart and crossed the street, squinting up at
Speaker 1: the Queen Anne rooftop bar we'd all agreed on. Inside,
Speaker 1: it was loud and warm. Monica was already half way
Speaker 1: through a ginger something, her curly hair a halo in
Speaker 1: the sunset. Tim was waving a menu at the bartender,
Speaker 1: and Leslie, who joined our circle after an epic escape
Speaker 1: room years ago, slid me a glass of something sharptrers
Speaker 1: and said to the only sane product manager left in Seattle,
Speaker 1: which had us all groaning and grinning. At least for
Speaker 1: a little while, I could forget that the week at
Speaker 1: Bright Spark had left me desperate for a non ironic conversation.
Speaker 1: We ordered fries and charred broccolini and whatever special the
Speaker 1: bartender pushed. Stories flew ridiculous, bug reports the time Monica
Speaker 1: lost her phone at a founder's retreat and found it
Speaker 1: duct taped to a motivational poster behind the bar. Small
Speaker 1: things that in the right company matted out of proportion
Speaker 1: to their size. I sipped and relaxed, already composing the
Speaker 1: text I'd send Rob some Friday. You're missing You owe
Speaker 1: me Ramen. The conversation drifted, people coming and going from
Speaker 1: near by tables, citilits sky above us, edged in violet.
Speaker 1: Then Monica slid her phone across the table to show
Speaker 1: a blurry Instagram story, flickers of candle light, an explosion
Speaker 1: of plates, someone's silk clad shoulder. She grinned at me,
Speaker 1: eyes crinkling. That wild member's only dinner on Capitol Hill
Speaker 1: last night. Yeah, Rob was there right, practically wrote the menu.
Speaker 1: Tim snorted, if you want some one to judge a
Speaker 1: speakeasy's cocktail list, send in Rob, still searching for that
Speaker 1: perfect dykery. Every one laughed, and Leslie shook her head.
Speaker 1: He's like Seattle's unofficial bar critic. Is there a single event?
Speaker 1: Rob isn't on a list for I forced a smile,
Speaker 1: pulse quickening. I could already taste the hollowness inside my ribs.
Speaker 1: I rolled Monika's words around in my head, careful not
Speaker 1: to let my face show anything strange. Because last night
Speaker 1: Rob had gotten home after eleven. He'd claimed meetings ran long,
Speaker 1: the new product lead was hopeless, and he'd looked tired,
Speaker 1: almost sheepish. No mention of a dinner or Capitol Hill.
Speaker 1: I let the moment slide by, nodded like I knew
Speaker 1: what they were talking about. My hands didn't shake at least,
Speaker 1: but it was like holding in a cough, trying not
Speaker 1: to betray myself, not to seem like the wife who
Speaker 1: doesn't know where her husband was. When Monica pressed a
Speaker 1: napkin toward me, dabbing at imaginary lipstick, I thanked her,
Speaker 1: hyper conscious of her ring, catching the light just enough distraction.
Speaker 1: The chatter barreled on. I let myself be pulled in
Speaker 1: awhere the whole time of a tiny breach, a point
Speaker 1: of failure in the system, a lie maybe, or just
Speaker 1: a forgotten detail. I told myself it was nothing. Rob
Speaker 1: had probably meant to tell me, been too tired, or
Speaker 1: maybe Monica just got her night's crossed. I drank another cocktail,
Speaker 1: willed my stomach to unclench and decided to let it
Speaker 1: go at least for now. Afterward, walking to the bus
Speaker 1: stop in the chill, smog tinted street lights and the
Speaker 1: echo of Monica's laughter, I replayed that line again. Rob
Speaker 1: was there right? Funny how certain sentences stick even when
Speaker 1: you wish they wouldn't. Our relationship always felt like a
Speaker 1: code base, handmade, always a little patched, but built on
Speaker 1: shared logic. We met at an all night hackethon in
Speaker 1: South Lake, Union, both of us hunched over laptops, surrounded
Speaker 1: by a thicket of red bull cans and cheap doughnuts.
Speaker 1: He'd been the charming back and dev who recited monty
Speaker 1: Python bits while crashing through Python scripts, and I the
Speaker 1: skeptical p M who challenged every single one of his
Speaker 1: API and points. That first year was a caffeine and
Speaker 1: cold whirlwind demo days, weekends lost to last minute builds.
Speaker 1: Why even get separate whiteboards, he joked when we merged
Speaker 1: our Trello boards barely a month into dating. The next
Speaker 1: two years, it was like we never stopped moving. When
Speaker 1: his first app slight List actually landed seed funding, I
Speaker 1: was there, half believing, half jittery eyes stinging with joy
Speaker 1: as we all crammed into that Flamingo tacI Capitol Hill bar.
Speaker 1: Friday happy hours became the home base. Even when Rob's
Speaker 1: networking calender bulged with invites only events, he made it
Speaker 1: a rule to join me at wherever I wanted, dumpy taverns,
Speaker 1: roof top lounges, even that sports bar war. Infamously, the
Speaker 1: bartender spilled a pitcher across our laps and Rob ended
Speaker 1: up doubling his tip. Our friends joked about us being
Speaker 1: a two person founder nest, even after we both left
Speaker 1: early stage. Game nights with Tim and Monika in our
Speaker 1: cramped Fremont apartment, Trips to Ballard to taste test ramen,
Speaker 1: Saturdays spent on the Burke Gilman until we collapsed in
Speaker 1: the grass. There were gaps, pressure from both sides, parents
Speaker 1: still suspicious that quitting law or medicine for tech was
Speaker 1: throwing away perfectly good brains. But we handled it, or
Speaker 1: tried to, as long as we had our routines. Communication
Speaker 1: was our thing. Weekly Sunday debriefs, ramen on the stove,
Speaker 1: sneakers tossed in the corner, sometimes music, mostly just us
Speaker 1: creator check in. Rob called it. We talked stress winds,
Speaker 1: wild ideas. Even when life got hard, like after his
Speaker 1: start up's messy failure or my f first round of
Speaker 1: layoffs at bright Spark. We said everything, even the stuff
Speaker 1: we didn't want to say. At least that was the promise.
Speaker 1: Back then, we'd sit on our tiny balcony feet overlapping
Speaker 1: Rob poking fun at tech Bross with their ten dollars
Speaker 1: lattes while proudly buying one himself. There were arguments about process,
Speaker 1: about whether his side projects took too much energy, but
Speaker 1: we always circled back, sequencing like code, figure out what broke,
Speaker 1: fix it, keep building. This year, the cracks showed up
Speaker 1: around the edges. Rob spent nights arguing in slack threads
Speaker 1: or pouring over his pitched deck. I saw the wear
Speaker 1: in his eyes at breakfast, the restlessness that came after
Speaker 1: his second start up sputtered out, and the way he
Speaker 1: gripped his coffee mug like it was the only thing
Speaker 1: holding him up. I was hitting a good stride at
Speaker 1: bright Spark, loving product management, finally landing some recognition, and
Speaker 1: for a while Rob seemed proud, then distant. There was
Speaker 1: more stress. More nights he said he'd be at the
Speaker 1: new gig, trying to land investor meetings. More week ends
Speaker 1: where he'd leave early with a muttered don't wait up.
Speaker 1: Sometimes I wondered if we were still us or just
Speaker 1: two cold monkeys sharing a fridge. Still, I told myself
Speaker 1: we were fine, after all, transparency in trust was what
Speaker 1: we'd always done better than any one else. The week
Speaker 1: nd stretched thin. Saturday, I woke earlier than I needed to,
Speaker 1: listlessly restocking the fridge, folding laundry in the living room
Speaker 1: while Spotify's algorithms served up every MOPy song it could find.
Speaker 1: Sometimes Rob worked Saturdays, but usually he'd check in by
Speaker 1: lunch to day nothing. The sky had shifted to its
Speaker 1: usual tope. By late afternoon. When Rob returned home. I
Speaker 1: was still in sweats, attempting to find the wood grain
Speaker 1: under a layer of unfolded T shirts. The front door creaked,
Speaker 1: then slammed shut again a breezy seattle draft. He looked tired,
Speaker 1: skin tight over cheek bones, but more alive than I'd
Speaker 1: see him all week. He gave me a distracted peck
Speaker 1: on the forehead, bag slung over his shoulder, and headed
Speaker 1: straight for the bedroom. Long one I called trying to
Speaker 1: sound casual. Yea deadline stacked, Rob answered, muffled over the
Speaker 1: zipper of his backpack. There was an odd note, a
Speaker 1: tang of cologne I didn't recognize, spiced and unfamiliar, mixing
Speaker 1: with something ginger saffron? Was I imagining it? He reappeared
Speaker 1: in kitchen light, eyes flicking from my pile of laundry
Speaker 1: to the takeout bag he'd brought. Picked you up some
Speaker 1: pad sea yew, thought you'd want dinner appreciated. Did you
Speaker 1: work with the new p M today? I asked, tossing
Speaker 1: a balled up sock at him, or still solo grinding?
Speaker 1: He hesitated just a second too long, mostly solo. Alex
Speaker 1: dropped by, brought those mint chocolates you like? I nodded,
Speaker 1: face pointed safely toward the laundry so he couldn't see
Speaker 1: my confusion. He shucked his jacket and tossed it on
Speaker 1: the chair. Later, folding the jacket, my hand brushed against
Speaker 1: something crinkled and stiff in the pocket. I slid it out,
Speaker 1: A cream colored napkin, thick and pressed, stamped with an
Speaker 1: elegant black logo that looked suspiciously like cursive Fontin's I'd
Speaker 1: been there once with Monica for her birthday, fifty dollar cocktails,
Speaker 1: foid grass, the kind of hushed, rarefied atmosphere you only
Speaker 1: enter with a reservation or serious connections, the same place
Speaker 1: Monica had mentioned at happy Hour. I stared at the napkin,
Speaker 1: turning it over in my hands. No phone numbers, no lipstick,
Speaker 1: nothing but a faint, spicy scent. It could be nothing,
Speaker 1: I told myself, just Rob's ponchon for nice bars. Maybe
Speaker 1: Alex had dragged him there for a client meeting. Should
Speaker 1: I ask? Did he even realize the napkin was in
Speaker 1: his pocket? For a second, I pictured myself holding up
Speaker 1: the napkin like evidence cross examining Rob on a chilly
Speaker 1: Saturday night. The thought made me feel brittle. I shoved
Speaker 1: it into the trash, feeling simultaneously self conscious and small.
Speaker 1: Maybe I was making something out of nothing. Rob's company
Speaker 1: was his everything right now, So what if he hit
Speaker 1: a fancy bar on a week night. He probably forgot
Speaker 1: to mention it In the blur of yesterday's sleep. Monica
Speaker 1: probably got her nights mixed up, And yet I kept
Speaker 1: seeing that flash across Monica's face, Her assumption as easy
Speaker 1: as breathing. Yeah, Rob was there right, like I should
Speaker 1: already know, like I was the only one not moving
Speaker 1: at the right speed. By Sunday, the feeling hadn't faded.
Speaker 1: I made our signature ramen, as Rob always called it,
Speaker 1: over salted, full of whatever. Greens were wilting in the bin,
Speaker 1: but Rob barely touched his bowl, scrolling on his phone,
Speaker 1: stifling yawns. Conversation pinballed between company business and fund raising,
Speaker 1: his eyes darting down whenever I asked how he is
Speaker 1: actually feeling you? All right, I ventured, stirring the noodles.
Speaker 1: You've been in a grind for weeks. If we need
Speaker 1: to scale back, honestly, just tell me. Maybe it's time
Speaker 1: for a real break. Rob forced a laugh. Han, I
Speaker 1: appreciate it, but if I pull out now, Alex will drown. Besides,
Speaker 1: we're on the cusp of something big, got to push through. Right,
Speaker 1: You said that last month, I replied, Promise you'll take
Speaker 1: a breather soon. He nodded, vacantly, Promise next week. Maybe
Speaker 1: it felt like trying to hug an overstretched wire. That night,
Speaker 1: he ducked into bed early, lights out by ten, already
Speaker 1: breathing softly. By the time I wiped down the counters.
Speaker 1: I checked our shared Google calendar, his plans, invest a dinner, demo, founder, drinks,
Speaker 1: all blocked out, all intentionally vague. I didn't want to
Speaker 1: be the person who snooped, but also was I suppose
Speaker 1: to know these things? Monday evening, after another late return,
Speaker 1: he left his phone face down on the window sill
Speaker 1: while he showered, ring her off. This was new. He'd
Speaker 1: always been loose about it. We'd laughed at couples who
Speaker 1: were cagy about devices. As I wiped down the table,
Speaker 1: the screen fluttered to life. Unrecognized number, then another two messages,
Speaker 1: no names, just a string of emojis. It slid out
Speaker 1: of sight before I could make out much else. After
Speaker 1: the shower, Rob barely commented on my prodding. Long day.
Speaker 1: Can't wait to crash, he muttered, hunting through his backpack
Speaker 1: for something he never found. He never mentioned the messages.
Speaker 1: Tuesday folding laundry again, product of endless sweatpants rotations. I
Speaker 1: found another napkin in his blazer, same logo Fontan's. I
Speaker 1: ran my finger along the black looping print, Unsure what
Speaker 1: to feel, I left it wedged between the cushions, just
Speaker 1: to see if he'd notice. For three days, I alternated
Speaker 1: between rationalizing and doubting. He's grinding, he needs freedom. I
Speaker 1: should trust him. But what did it mean if my
Speaker 1: first instinct was to police myself instead of trusting what
Speaker 1: I saw? Thursday morning, I made an effort. I set
Speaker 1: my phone neatly on our good breakfast plates, poured us
Speaker 1: both extra strong coffee, and tried banter about work, hoping
Speaker 1: to break the static. He scrolled through Twitter, barely pausing
Speaker 1: to smile. Big algorithm, drama, don't ask, I can't talk
Speaker 1: n d a's yet. I smiled anyway, feeling the gap widen.
Speaker 1: That day at Bright's Bark, I was notably unproductive. I
Speaker 1: toggled through my own calendar, trying not to stare at
Speaker 1: Rob's recurring net working nights. I opened Instagram. Rob hadn't
Speaker 1: posted in weeks, odd for someone who normally photographed every
Speaker 1: weird art installation or secret bar in the city. I
Speaker 1: dipped into stories, no mention, no tags, nothing on his feed.
Speaker 1: He'd been quieter online, but that wasn't proof of anything.
Speaker 1: Maybe he was just burned out or working on something big,
Speaker 1: or maybe he was just trying not to leave a trail.
Speaker 1: Friday work ended in a chaotic all hands and a
Speaker 1: race to finish one last deliverable before drinks. I felt
Speaker 1: off balance. I checked my phone, no message. The Happy
Speaker 1: Hour replayed in my mind all weekend. Monica's comment about
Speaker 1: the Capitol Hill dinner party looped low and persistent. Every
Speaker 1: time I thought about pushing it out of my brain,
Speaker 1: some new detail nudged in Rob's new cologne, the restaurant napkins,
Speaker 1: his late arrivals, the tension. When I asked about his day.
Speaker 1: Late Saturday afternoon, Rob breezed in, dropping a half eaten
Speaker 1: sandwich and his keys on the counter, muttering something about deadline,
Speaker 1: fire drills and new partnerships. He was texting as he
Speaker 1: walked into the bathroom, pausing to laugh at something on
Speaker 1: his screen. Again, the phone never left his hand. I
Speaker 1: went to tidy up the kitchen and noticed a recently
Speaker 1: printed Yuber receipt crumpled by the sink destination Madison Valley
Speaker 1: time stamp during Thursday nights heads down grind. Wasn't that
Speaker 1: the night he'd said he'd be at the Cowarking Space
Speaker 1: until close. Maybe he was getting a late dinner easy
Speaker 1: enough to explain. But as I clicked through our bank
Speaker 1: ap to split last month's expenses, other things popped out.
Speaker 1: A pair of Fontine's charges in the past two weeks,
Speaker 1: not small ones either, the kind that didn't make sense
Speaker 1: for a burger and a beer. I told myself to
Speaker 1: avoid reading meaning into it, but by now the steady
Speaker 1: drip of inconsistencies was impossible to ignore. That. Evening over
Speaker 1: Pad see Yu at the breakfast bar, I tried again
Speaker 1: for normal conversation, looking for any crack I could walk
Speaker 1: through next weekend, I said, maybe we dodge all tech
Speaker 1: talk and just go east for a day, hit the
Speaker 1: hike with Monika and Tim, breathe fresh air for once,
Speaker 1: or just veg at home. No meetings your call. Rob
Speaker 1: took a bite, chewed too long, then shrugged. Sounds good,
Speaker 1: but ah might be tough. New opportunity brewing. A guy
Speaker 1: from angel net wants to talk through some funding options.
Speaker 1: Could stretch over the weak end another perfect alibi, but
Speaker 1: I pressed, can I join this one? I need to
Speaker 1: get away from my spreadsheet for a while. He didn't
Speaker 1: answer right away, His face stayed neutral, almost practiced. It's
Speaker 1: kind of like founders only investor wants just the core
Speaker 1: team this time. Next one hand, I promise, O K.
Speaker 1: He cleared his plate, vanished to the bedroom. Ten minutes
Speaker 1: later I heard him on the phone, lo insistent tones,
Speaker 1: a brief sharp laugh, then the door closing. Walls never
Speaker 1: seemed so thin. By Sunday, my patience was fraying. It
Speaker 1: felt like someone was swapping random files in our project repo.
Speaker 1: Every time I thought I understood the build, something else.
Speaker 1: I did a little investigating, not snooping, I told myself.
Speaker 1: Just examining the community event calendar for founders drinks at
Speaker 1: the nest. Nothing scheduled conference list, no events matching the
Speaker 1: ones on Rob's calendar, meet up groups, no sign ups
Speaker 1: from his email. I wasn't sure if that proved anything,
Speaker 1: but by now I was looking for patterns. My sister
Speaker 1: Julia came over to return a hoodie and ended up
Speaker 1: staying for lunch. She sat at our kitchen island, slowly
Speaker 1: peeling an orange and watching as Rob flitted in and out,
Speaker 1: phone always in hand, lines in his forehead deeper than usual.
Speaker 1: At one point, his phone buzzed in the kitchen. He
Speaker 1: jumped up to answer, despite the fact that he'd been
Speaker 1: talking to Monica in the living room. Julia raised an eyebrow, whispering,
Speaker 1: he's more tightly wound than a spring to day. Everything
Speaker 1: all right with you too, I shrugged, smiling faintly, and
Speaker 1: Julia didn't push. She always sensed when I wasn't ready
Speaker 1: to talk, but I could see the concern flicker in
Speaker 1: her eyes. Can I help with dinner? She offered, changing
Speaker 1: the subject. After Julia left, my questions circled tighter. That night,
Speaker 1: over a quick meal, Rob scrolled through email instead of
Speaker 1: debriefing with me. When I offered to switch our rahm
Speaker 1: in ritual to a different night give him more time,
Speaker 1: he bristled, It's fine, Han, you don't have to keep
Speaker 1: re arranging everything for me. Let me handle this. I nodded,
Speaker 1: and we sat in a shared silence. There was a
Speaker 1: time when he would have told me exactly what was
Speaker 1: preoccupying him, not just brushed it off. Our finances, too,
Speaker 1: had started to reveal unexpected variances, the granular detritus of
Speaker 1: a shared life. While sorting our joint banking app for rent,
Speaker 1: I saw more charges uber rides to South Lake union
Speaker 1: dinners at exclusive spots, and one recurring luxury coworking membership.
Speaker 1: I'd never seen the membership before. Maybe it was a
Speaker 1: new business expense, but he hadn't mentioned it. One night,
Speaker 1: our mutual friend Tim joined us for trivia at the
Speaker 1: microbrewery down the street. After the third round, when Rob
Speaker 1: left for a quick call, Tim leaned in, whispering conspiratorially.
Speaker 1: Rob's moving with some serious investor, crowed lately caught him
Speaker 1: with a couple of those angel net folks at the
Speaker 1: Art House gala last week. I stiffened, careful to keep
Speaker 1: my face open. Oh, he didn't say anything about that.
Speaker 1: Tim grinned, oblivious, Probably didn't want to jinx it. He's
Speaker 1: itching to prove the last pivot wasn't a waste. He
Speaker 1: nudged my glass. You must be proud of him. Not
Speaker 1: many people would keep grinding after a fourth try. I smiled,
Speaker 1: but something gnawed at me the Art House gala. Tim's
Speaker 1: casual assumption highlighted how firmly I'd been on the outside
Speaker 1: of Rob's new world. Soon, our Sunday checkins were abbreviated,
Speaker 1: sometimes skipped altogether. Urgent founder stuff, Rob said, paused deep
Speaker 1: in slack threads or racing out the door. When he
Speaker 1: did sit still. He seemed somewhere else, absent, unreachable. Even
Speaker 1: our intimacy faded Rob's hand when it found mine under
Speaker 1: the dinner table, felt limp distracted. He stopped making jokes
Speaker 1: about tired tech bross. Instead, he was tense conversations with me,
Speaker 1: careful and clipped. I sometimes wondered if he was bracing
Speaker 1: himself against my questions. It built up in small ways.
Speaker 1: One morning, Rob wore a dark blue shirt, had never
Speaker 1: seen before, something fancier than his usual rotation. It's just
Speaker 1: a new look, he told me when I asked smoothing
Speaker 1: the fabric. That evening, an unfamiliar badge peeked out from
Speaker 1: his laptop bag. Neon works a cowaking space. Neither of
Speaker 1: us had ever discussed Friday. The day before his supposed
Speaker 1: overnight retreat, he woke before six, barely pausing to kiss
Speaker 1: my cheek on the way out. Don't forget might be
Speaker 1: off line to night, he called, don't wait up. I
Speaker 1: lay in bed, the words echoing. For a moment I
Speaker 1: believed him. He'd always been ambitious, always thrown himself into work.
Speaker 1: Isn't this what I encouraged him to do? Wasn't either
Speaker 1: one who joked that he should go big or go home,
Speaker 1: even if it meant living on caffeine and ramen. Yet
Speaker 1: now in the gray morning light, my certainty flickered. I
Speaker 1: pressed on. I tried to reconnect, offering to tag along
Speaker 1: with his net working drinks, framing it as a joke.
Speaker 1: I need to borrow your charisma for my own client's
Speaker 1: Rob He hesitated, then forced a smile. It's Founders only
Speaker 1: you know the drill. They keep it pretty exclusive. Next time,
Speaker 1: maybe just once, I prodded, keeping it light, I promise
Speaker 1: next time, he repeated, brushing a kiss across my forehead
Speaker 1: and grabbing his laptop. I watched him close the door,
Speaker 1: just as carefully as he'd closed off that part of
Speaker 1: his life from my view. That night, Rob came home
Speaker 1: earlier than usual, surprising me with takeout from one of
Speaker 1: our old favorites. He set it on the table, smiling,
Speaker 1: sheepishly thought we should celebrate your big week, spend some
Speaker 1: real time, no start up talk. I smiled, despite myself
Speaker 1: letting the warmth of his effort crack my reserve. We
Speaker 1: bantered over spicy noodles and soft jazz, cracking each other
Speaker 1: up with old inside jokes. For a brief moment, I
Speaker 1: dipped back into the rhythm that once felt effortless between us.
Speaker 1: Rob poured wine, made a toast to my unstoppable streak,
Speaker 1: and even suggested an imprompt you weekend get away. Maybe
Speaker 1: it's just what we need. Unplug, regroup, clear the cash.
Speaker 1: As Alex would say, he apologized for being distant, chalking
Speaker 1: it up to start up mode. I'm just under a
Speaker 1: ton of pressure. I promise I'm not shutting you out. Han,
Speaker 1: I hate that I've made you feel that way. He
Speaker 1: told me again, with conviction, about a potential new angel
Speaker 1: investor and how hard he was trying to make something
Speaker 1: work after the last disaster. I could see real strain
Speaker 1: in his eyes, the trace of shame and hope colliding.
Speaker 1: That night, curled together in bed for the first time
Speaker 1: in weeks, I let myself believe things could return to normal.
Speaker 1: We stayed close, legs entwined, laughter giving way to something
Speaker 1: softer and real. I closed my eyes and willed the
Speaker 1: tension to dissolve, holding tight to the version of Rob
Speaker 1: i'd always loved. The next morning, as I was cleaning
Speaker 1: up email, a LinkedIn notification pinged innocuous at first, I
Speaker 1: opened it without thinking. The message was from a VC
Speaker 1: assistant whose name I recognized. Rob had name dropped her
Speaker 1: on occasion, mostly in relation to high end demo nights. Hi, Hannah,
Speaker 1: looking forward to finally meeting you and Rob together. Hope
Speaker 1: you enjoyed last week's dinner with us. If you want
Speaker 1: to confirm details for the winery event, let me know.
Speaker 1: My mouth went dry last week's dinner the when he'd
Speaker 1: asked me not to attend. The assistant seemed sure I'd
Speaker 1: been there, sure that Rob and I were together. A
Speaker 1: wave of cold crept up my arms, settling in my chest.
Speaker 1: I scrolled back through my memory, thinking about all the
Speaker 1: overlapping dates and explanations. The math didn't add up. Had
Speaker 1: Rob told her I'd been there, or did he just
Speaker 1: not bother to correct her? Or was there some other
Speaker 1: explanation I was missing. When Rob returned from a run,
Speaker 1: I was sitting at the kitchen island, phone in hand,
Speaker 1: wrestling with a thousand questions I couldn't ask. He smiled,
Speaker 1: asked if I wanted smoothies. I said yes, my voice
Speaker 1: barely steady. That night, under our soft white sheets, I
Speaker 1: lay awake long after Rob's breathing slowed. I traced circles
Speaker 1: on the ceiling with my eyes, counting cracks, counting lies,
Speaker 1: wondering where exactly the fabric had first begun to unravel.
Speaker 1: But still, even then I hoped there was some answer
Speaker 1: I hadn't considered, some part of the story I hadn't seen.
Speaker 1: Monday slipped by in a fog. But I went through
Speaker 1: the motions meetings, feature speck rewrites, task, juggling between zoom calls. Still,
Speaker 1: every break found my thumb flitting back to that linked
Speaker 1: in message, the icy politeness of its settling deeper into
Speaker 1: my bones. Occasionally I'd glance up from my screen to
Speaker 1: see our shared photos on the bookshelf, us at the
Speaker 1: Fremont's Solstice Parade, grinning with faces painted, my head tipped
Speaker 1: against Rob's shoulder, a blurry night shot outside a bar,
Speaker 1: fake mustaches and cheesy grins. The distance between that life
Speaker 1: and this thin quiet was so wide it made me
Speaker 1: swallow hard. In the end, I did what I always
Speaker 1: did when faced with doubt. I sought data. After work.
Speaker 1: I opened my laptop in the living room, the way
Speaker 1: I always did for Sunday budget reviews, but with a
Speaker 1: double espresso and my mind ticking our joint account was
Speaker 1: half a mess, but I'd learned to read the metadata.
Speaker 1: There again were Fontin's charges, three in the past month,
Speaker 1: each exactly two people's worth. I saw a ride shirt
Speaker 1: a high rise condo listed as Westlake Grand, a place
Speaker 1: Rob used to mock us, all flash, no soul. The
Speaker 1: Uber charge was time stamped one of the evenings he'd
Speaker 1: claimed late night coding at Neon Works. I toggled through
Speaker 1: his Instagram, then searched the official Fontin's page. In one
Speaker 1: group photo advertising a tasting menu event, I saw the
Speaker 1: curve of Rob's ear, mostly hidden behind a crowd, but
Speaker 1: there tilt of the neck. The shirt with that tiny
Speaker 1: geometric print he'd worn exactly once. No name, no tag,
Speaker 1: but the date in the caption matched Moniker's members only night.
Speaker 1: It felt like getting a stack trace, one contradiction piling
Speaker 1: atop the next. Tim called that night about a product
Speaker 1: market fit survey he wanted to borrow. I chatted for
Speaker 1: a while about totally unrelated drama, his upcoming triathlon, Leslie's move,
Speaker 1: and steered the conversation, circling close to Rob but never
Speaker 1: admitting what gnawed at me. Yeah, he's up to his elbows.
Speaker 1: Tim said, easy going, honestly. Good for him. Right after
Speaker 1: all that mess with Pivotry, I was worried he was
Speaker 1: going to bail to the burbs. I heard the familiar
Speaker 1: hum of Tim's espresso machine in the background. I tried
Speaker 1: to sound nonchalant. He's definitely net working hard. How's that crew?
Speaker 1: The investor folks from the art gala? He mentioned them lately.
Speaker 1: Tim snorted, are you kidding? He's locked in? I almost
Speaker 1: envy the hustle. Alex told me they closed a pretty
Speaker 1: wild deal. After that, I heard Meyer's crew is helping
Speaker 1: fund it. Who's Meyer? The name hovered just outside the
Speaker 1: list of you usual suspects. Tim hesitated a second, may
Speaker 1: be surprised. Oh um, she's the developer Rob introduced back
Speaker 1: at Neon works sharp like crypto obsessed NFT evangelist, kind
Speaker 1: of a rising star. Guess she's tight with a couple vcs.
Speaker 1: Now she's local. Yeah, Rob didn't tell you about the
Speaker 1: Westlake pitch. She demoed some insane ar shopping tool a beat.
Speaker 1: Wait were you there for that? I shook my head slowly,
Speaker 1: knowing Tim couldn't see. No, must have missed that one,
Speaker 1: but I've seen some of her stuff online, cool stuff.
Speaker 1: Tim wasn't suspicious, but his words sat heavy. Meyer's crew,
Speaker 1: tight with vcs that connected a few more dots, events, dinners,
Speaker 1: maybe those retreat nights. But still there were plausible explanations.
Speaker 1: Rob was always networking. I could picture his face tired
Speaker 1: and eager at once, hungry for the next fix, the new,
Speaker 1: the exciting. The next morning, with Rob already gone, I
Speaker 1: found the blue shirt from last week, balled up in
Speaker 1: the hamper. I checked the collar, faint traces of foundation,
Speaker 1: or maybe it was just the bad lighting. My own
Speaker 1: heart sped up, and I felt suddenly foolish, searching for smudges,
Speaker 1: like some cartoon housewife, a stereotype I'd always mocked. I
Speaker 1: dropped the shirt in the wash. Maybe it was city grime.
Speaker 1: That's all. Wednesdays were always rough, product pushes, back to
Speaker 1: back stand ups, barely any chance to text. I wanted
Speaker 1: to let my stomach on clench, to push the LinkedIn
Speaker 1: message away, but every glance at my phone sparked a
Speaker 1: nervous itch. At lunch, Leslie messaged a meme about engineers
Speaker 1: in therapy, and we ended up chatting. I tried to
Speaker 1: slip in something light about Rob's recent streak of secret events.
Speaker 1: Tell him to stop stealing all the start up cred,
Speaker 1: Leslie replied, then, after a pause, actually I ran into
Speaker 1: him and Alex at Neon Works. Looked like they had
Speaker 1: half the city's crypto weirdos with them. Was that the
Speaker 1: night you did drinks in Capitol Hill? I had no
Speaker 1: idea which night she meant. Probably, I typed, he's got
Speaker 1: a more active night life than me. I'm too old
Speaker 1: for after parties now, little white lies stacked neat as
Speaker 1: poker chips. Ah, well, let me know if you want
Speaker 1: in next time. Those parties can be wild a smiley.
Speaker 1: I stared at the chat for a long time. Leslie
Speaker 1: wasn't pushing, but she was one more person with knowledge.
Speaker 1: I didn't have one more night, one more crack in
Speaker 1: the glass. Rob came home earlier than expected, chipper, hungry
Speaker 1: for thy food and bringing an unwieldy hydranger bouquet just
Speaker 1: because sorry for my head space. We watched a dumb
Speaker 1: show in unfocussed tandem, shoulders touching laughter genuine but easily exhausted.
Speaker 1: I wanted to freeze time bottle. This version of us
Speaker 1: secrets forgotten before the cracks split the whole jar. But then,
Speaker 1: when he took his phone to the bathroom, I heard
Speaker 1: the teltal soft tone through the closed door. I caught
Speaker 1: a fragment of a voice, light, playful, pitched like an endearment,
Speaker 1: the way I used to murmur to Rob when we'd
Speaker 1: first started dating. Then only Robs laugh in response, softer
Speaker 1: than the one I'd gotten minutes ago. After he emerged,
Speaker 1: he came and kissed my head. Sorry, Alex, being an
Speaker 1: idiot as usual, I played a long nodding. Was this
Speaker 1: what partnership was? Now a series of polite fictions. The
Speaker 1: end of the week brought rain and a cold wind
Speaker 1: that pressed up against the apartment windows, rattling them in
Speaker 1: their old wooden sashes. I was awake before sunrise, lying
Speaker 1: on my side, staring at the swirl of condensation against
Speaker 1: the glass. Rob's alarm blared at six. He snoozed it.
Speaker 1: I watched him roll over arm, draping me in a
Speaker 1: reflex for a second. The memory of security, his miliar weight,
Speaker 1: the warmth of him, stirred gilt. Was I betraying him
Speaker 1: by doubting? Wasn't loyalty? About resisting your worst suspicions. He stirred,
Speaker 1: eyes still closed. You good, yeah, I said, softly, just cold.
Speaker 1: I'll reset the heat at lunch. He sounded distracted. I
Speaker 1: gathered myself, deciding to ask outright, Rob, are we okay?
Speaker 1: The words came out before I had time to send
Speaker 1: off the edges. His eyes opened, blinking at me, of course,
Speaker 1: Why just you're on the move so much. I feel
Speaker 1: like we're running parallel sprints and barely ship anything together.
Speaker 1: I tried to make him smile, falling back on code talk.
Speaker 1: He didn't. His gaze flicked away. I know, Han, I'm
Speaker 1: just fried. I'll pull back soon. I promise, shit'll stabilize.
Speaker 1: He squeezed my hand. Can you hang in there. We
Speaker 1: both need this break to work out. I nodded, mollified
Speaker 1: for the moment, and but wishing whatever this break meant
Speaker 1: was clearer break in what our habits us. After he left,
Speaker 1: I sat in the shower for a long time, letting
Speaker 1: the hot water fog the mirror until I couldn't quite
Speaker 1: see myself any more. By noon, the office cafeteria's dry
Speaker 1: salmon and limp salad did little to distract me. That
Speaker 1: LinkedIn message pulsed on my phone, a persistent notification I
Speaker 1: couldn't swipe away. I hovered over the v C assistant's name,
Speaker 1: nearly typed a reply, then blue baled myself into simply
Speaker 1: closing the tab instead. I messaged Monica cooching it as
Speaker 1: a favor. You still got the link to that group
Speaker 1: photo from the Capitol Hill dinner, Trying to figure out
Speaker 1: if I've already met one of Rob's new contacts. Three
Speaker 1: minutes later, she responded link plus an er my face
Speaker 1: is so puffy here joke. I scrolled through the photo.
Speaker 1: Rob wasn't the center, just off to one side, but unmistakable.
Speaker 1: His arm was slow, ung over the back of a chair,
Speaker 1: a gesture, half flirtatious, half careless. Next to him, I
Speaker 1: saw her dark hair, bold red lipstick, a hand on
Speaker 1: his forearm mire. Presumably she looked younger than us, but
Speaker 1: held herself with the kind of confidence that came from
Speaker 1: getting used to being the sharpest in the room. He
Speaker 1: looked happy, relaxed in a way I hadn't seen for weeks.
Speaker 1: A pit opened in my stomach. It could have been nothing.
Speaker 1: She might have just been a friend, a business contact,
Speaker 1: someone he wanted to impress, the way he always tried
Speaker 1: to mentor hungry cold slingers, or cut deals with up
Speaker 1: and comers. Yet her chair was turned toward his, his
Speaker 1: head cocked in her direction, their bodies oriented the way
Speaker 1: people unconsciously leaned closer when they hope the world disappears.
Speaker 1: I minimized the tab and tried to focus on my backlog,
Speaker 1: but by the time I left work, I was exhausted
Speaker 1: and brittle, second guessing every memory. There wasn't a right
Speaker 1: way to ask him, at least nothing I could think
Speaker 1: of that didn't make me seem jealous, small, controlling, so
Speaker 1: I said nothing, hoping to catch more clues before the
Speaker 1: bottom dropped out. The week end was a maze of
Speaker 1: missed connections. Rob was home for hours at a time, friendly, attentive,
Speaker 1: even cooking pancakes on Saturday, helping me clean out the
Speaker 1: spare room, nagging me to finally send in my half
Speaker 1: completed expense report for the first time in weeks. We
Speaker 1: watched a whole movie together. The credits rolled, and we
Speaker 1: lay side by side in the delicious hum of normalcy.
Speaker 1: Legs tangled, but Sunday night Rob left for a beer
Speaker 1: with a potential new partner, just for an hour. I swear, babe,
Speaker 1: don't wait up if I'm late. He left in a
Speaker 1: storm of cologne and anticipation, his tone almost giddy. Curiosity
Speaker 1: finally won out over caution. I opened our joint computer,
Speaker 1: which I almost never did any more. Too many separate habits,
Speaker 1: too many personalized dashboards. Nothing scandalous, just danceable playlists and
Speaker 1: Amazon returns. But in the browser, his Google Map's history
Speaker 1: was still logged in last Friday night, Fontane's. Then a
Speaker 1: trip to a boutique hotel in Belltown, forty eight minutes
Speaker 1: at Fontane's, two hours later, a half hour block on
Speaker 1: site at the hotel's rooftop lounge, then another lift back home.
Speaker 1: I stared, then closed the laptop as if it burned, gilt,
Speaker 1: folding over me like a heavy blanket. He came home
Speaker 1: later than one tipsy, full of stories about the most
Speaker 1: insane investor rant, gushing about the future in technicolor. I
Speaker 1: tried to listen. I did when he reached for me,
Speaker 1: sighing into my hair. I let him draw me close,
Speaker 1: but inside my mind gnawed at the co ordinates and
Speaker 1: times at work. The next morning, I pulled up Meyer's
Speaker 1: profyl clicking through her public Twitter feed, retweets of web
Speaker 1: three drama off, a dozen links to hacker meet ups,
Speaker 1: a handful of photos from various tech dinners, her head
Speaker 1: thrown back in unguarded laughter. In one, Rob stood beside her,
Speaker 1: glasses raised. Caption best table in the house, hashed nightel's
Speaker 1: founder life. The post was from two weeks back. He
Speaker 1: d told me he was home grading code tests. On
Speaker 1: a hunch, I checked our statements again. A single charge
Speaker 1: for silver Line Hotel that same night. There were two
Speaker 1: guest rates, one for a suite, one for an incidental
Speaker 1: The math again was impossible to rationalize. That evening, I
Speaker 1: tried one last time for straight talk. As we made dinner,
Speaker 1: pad tie because I needed to keep my hands busy,
Speaker 1: I turned spatula raised and said, Rob, can I ask
Speaker 1: you something weird? He glanced up, whary. Shoot? Why did
Speaker 1: the VCS assistant assume I'd been at that Capitol Hill
Speaker 1: dinner with you? She sent me a LinkedIn message sounded
Speaker 1: like everyone thought I was there. He stopped slicing peppers,
Speaker 1: his jaw setting almost imperceptibly. Oh right, I mentioned you
Speaker 1: to her once. Guess she just assumed. Usually I tell
Speaker 1: people you're my plus one in crime. Didn't realize she'd
Speaker 1: message you. I tasted the air, searching his face. He
Speaker 1: shrugged a little too casual, simple mistake. Sorry, if it
Speaker 1: was weird, I probably should have brought you along next one. Yeah,
Speaker 1: just seemed odd. My voice was stronger than I felt.
Speaker 1: He stepped close, squeezed my shoulder. Nothing shady hand promise.
Speaker 1: I nodded, but didn't quite meet his eyes. Later, while
Speaker 1: cleaning up, I found a hotel receipt slipped between the
Speaker 1: glass cook top and a stack of unread New Yorkers, Silverline, Hotel,
Speaker 1: Room five hundred four, two guests, bar tab. I waited,
Speaker 1: maybe it was business, some group event. Maybe my phone
Speaker 1: pinged Monica, asking if I was still up for drinks
Speaker 1: Thursday added Meyer's coming too. She wants to meet the
Speaker 1: legendary Hannah. A prickling traveled down my arms. I said yes,
Speaker 1: because what else was left. The next few days I
Speaker 1: walled off my feelings in a haze of work. I
Speaker 1: answered e mails, led brainstorms, cheered for my team every hour.
Speaker 1: I considered canceling on Monica, on Meya, on the truth itself,
Speaker 1: but my inertia was stronger than my imagination. Thursday came
Speaker 1: pouring rain, classic Seattle. Monica reserved an alcove at the bar,
Speaker 1: the one where the light turned everyone's skin honey gold.
Speaker 1: When I arrived, Monica greeted me with a hug, thick
Speaker 1: with the perfume of relief. Her campaign was over. Her
Speaker 1: world less mannic Meyer was already at the table, Hare,
Speaker 1: pulled into a messy knot, black glasses, a hoodie printed
Speaker 1: with a vintage Atari logo. Up close, she seemed softer
Speaker 1: than in photos, younger but sharper eyes that flicked everywhere
Speaker 1: at once, amused and searching. She leaned across the table,
Speaker 1: extending her hand. You must be Hannah. Rob talks about
Speaker 1: you all the time, says you're the only reason he
Speaker 1: survived his first hackathon. The words strung a compliment, but
Speaker 1: one I didn't trust, he exaggerates, I managed, smiling thinly.
Speaker 1: Monica ordered us old fashions and made introductions. Meyer, it
Speaker 1: turned out, had code reviewed half the fintech apps in
Speaker 1: the city. She was building something big. She asked smart questions,
Speaker 1: never quite answering any herself. Her laugh was easy, but
Speaker 1: when she mentioned Rob, it was always Rob and Alex,
Speaker 1: the team, the crew out at Westlake, no ownership, no admissions.
Speaker 1: We commiserated about open offices, funding, fatigue, the endless circus
Speaker 1: of pitching. Monica swapped stories about her brief time trying
Speaker 1: to build her own app. The conversation was perfectly normal
Speaker 1: until Bill. It was at one point when Monica left
Speaker 1: for the restroom mya turn to me. Eyes suddenly focused.
Speaker 1: Rob said, you'd probably outgrow product management. He's always saying
Speaker 1: you could run your own shop. Awesomely, you ever think
Speaker 1: about baling from bright Spark? I gave my practiced shrug.
Speaker 1: Maybe some day. She grinned. If you ever want to explore,
Speaker 1: let me know. Founders like us have to stick together.
Speaker 1: The words felt too familiar, like a phrase borrowed. A
Speaker 1: dozen small warnings blared in the back of my head.
Speaker 1: We moved on the moment, lost in the churn of
Speaker 1: drinks and laughter. After walking to my car, Monica leaned
Speaker 1: in close. Hey, are you okay? You seemed off? I
Speaker 1: swallowed voice low, just tired, been a weird week. She
Speaker 1: gave me a skeptical look. If you need to talk,
Speaker 1: you know you can call right I've got Tekeela and
Speaker 1: a ten year old grudge against tech Bross. I half laughed, Thanks,
Speaker 1: maybe I will at home. Rob was sprawled across the bed,
Speaker 1: shoes still on reading something on his phone. He looked
Speaker 1: up as I entered. Smile easy. How was it fine?
Speaker 1: Myer's impressive, I said, watching for any flicker in his eyes.
Speaker 1: She's smart, he agreed, scary smart. Her team's going to
Speaker 1: blow up. I changed, climbed into bed. He shifted to
Speaker 1: tuck his arm around me, warm and safe, and I
Speaker 1: almost wept with the loss of what I wished. I
Speaker 1: still believed. It was another week before the next piece
Speaker 1: fell into place. An invitation landed in my inbox Westlake
Speaker 1: World Builder's Mixer plus One's Welcome. It was addressed to
Speaker 1: both me and Rob, but he'd said he was double
Speaker 1: booked that night, would attend with Alyx just for the brand.
Speaker 1: I R S V P D maybe and waited to
Speaker 1: see if Rob would mention it. He never did. Saturday,
Speaker 1: Monica texted, you should come, even if Rob flakes The
Speaker 1: views amazing. That night, lying awake listening to the city's
Speaker 1: night noise, I realized I already knew. I just needed
Speaker 1: to see it written out to count every step. So
Speaker 1: on Sunday I checked our home iPad. Rob never used
Speaker 1: it for anything serious, old games podcasts, but that day,
Speaker 1: as he showered, I saw his messages had sinked over
Speaker 1: the home Wi Fi. The notification log was a mine
Speaker 1: field of group chats about de Moss pitches, v C drama,
Speaker 1: and on a separate thread, one labeled simply mere. I
Speaker 1: opened it, palms sweating. The history unspooled itself, playful texts,
Speaker 1: late night memes detailed plans for secret dinners. In jokes,
Speaker 1: shared anxiety about investor meetings. Photos, the roof top view,
Speaker 1: her hand on a whiskey glass, His plotting out some scheme,
Speaker 1: the banter full of references I didn't know. She called
Speaker 1: him trouble. He wrote, you're my escape one day. Can't
Speaker 1: wait for the retreat, counting hours till it's just us
Speaker 1: and the view. She flirted, If you ghost me at
Speaker 1: Fontin's again, I'll delete your code reaper. His reply, wouldn't
Speaker 1: dare best partner I've ever had? Period? The ache was physical,
Speaker 1: a sick twist low in my gut. Not just business,
Speaker 1: not just possibility, something alive, tender and mercilessly exclusive. No
Speaker 1: mention of me except home, a little off to night,
Speaker 1: she's worried or crueler. Don't ask, just need to keep
Speaker 1: this on the cute tea for now. I scrolled back,
Speaker 1: looking for a denial, a practical explanation, a hidden twist. Instead,
Speaker 1: every message drew the map again, Dinner's I was never
Speaker 1: told about events. I'd only heard second hand, a growing
Speaker 1: network of trust and excitement that had locked me outside.
Speaker 1: I said the iPad down, hands shaking. When Rob got
Speaker 1: out of the shower, I was pouring campari into a glass,
Speaker 1: letting the bitter flood my tongue. You okay, he asked,
Speaker 1: towels slung low on his hips. Fine. I lied, gazing
Speaker 1: out at the slick city lights, and knew for certain
Speaker 1: that nothing could be fixed by just staying silent any longer.
Speaker 1: The last thread of hope gone. I let the numbness
Speaker 1: in methodically lining up my pieces to morrow, I would ask,
Speaker 1: I would lay it all out, and I would not,
Speaker 1: could not pretend not to know. I barely slept. I
Speaker 1: kept checking the iPad, irrational, as if the messages might
Speaker 1: disappear or morph into something benign under daylight. But the
Speaker 1: screen's harsh light didn't soften, and when I finally stumbled
Speaker 1: out of bed after Rob's alarm trilled, the world looked tilted.
Speaker 1: He was already gone early, or maybe just evading me.
Speaker 1: A clean mug in the dish rack sink wiped dry,
Speaker 1: everything silently arranged. I showered on autopilot, every gesture, mechanical towel,
Speaker 1: tooth paste pull on Jean's The city outside felt uncaring,
Speaker 1: the wind flapping the rain against our old window. There
Speaker 1: was a message from Monica, ping when you're up coffees
Speaker 1: on me, but I didn't answer, not yet. I was
Speaker 1: caught forward and back, my mind cycling through every slip
Speaker 1: in Rob's new time lane, overlaying each lie like tracing paper.
Speaker 1: I kept flashing to the feeling of Meyer's hand on
Speaker 1: his arm in those photos, and to the word escape
Speaker 1: on the bright white iPad screen, then to the v
Speaker 1: C assistant's note every one, assuming I was present, part
Speaker 1: of Rob's best story, when really I was invisible. I
Speaker 1: let the kettle boil over before I realized, water hissing.
Speaker 1: It was a nuisance to clean. Everything was a nuisance.
Speaker 1: I didn't want to go to work, but not going
Speaker 1: felt too vulnerable, too obvious, So I packed up, moving
Speaker 1: through the flat like it was a hotel room, already
Speaker 1: half vacated. I barely glanceanced at the book shelves, our
Speaker 1: collection of Hackethon trophies, our board games. I wondered, numbly
Speaker 1: if when people's marriages fell apart, it always started in
Speaker 1: low grade administrative detail. So many unremarkable mornings were the
Speaker 1: only difference was the weight in your chest. At bright Spark,
Speaker 1: I answered e mails, contributed to design critiques, even scheduled
Speaker 1: a stand up for Friday, somehow maintaining my roll as
Speaker 1: the reliable one. But my head was pounding, and my
Speaker 1: slack responses grew curt syntax sliding. Nobody commented at work,
Speaker 1: Almost nobody noticed if you started to drift, as long
Speaker 1: as you shipped your features. Monica checked in at lunch,
Speaker 1: her forehead knitting when she saw my face at the
Speaker 1: salad bar. You look like a zombie. Did the Rahmen
Speaker 1: incident strike again? I tried for a smile, failed, didn't
Speaker 1: sleep too much fintech in my dreams. She grinned, but
Speaker 1: it faded quickly. Seriously, what's wrong? For a second, I
Speaker 1: almost told her, but the words shriveled in my throat allergies.
Speaker 1: I lied, wiping my nose for effect. Back at my desk,
Speaker 1: I cycled through our shared bank accounts, again, confirming what
Speaker 1: I already knew, Fontan's silverline ride shares, recurring cowaking charges.
Speaker 1: The pattern was concrete, undeniable. When you work in product,
Speaker 1: your train to read gaps where the numbers stopped matching
Speaker 1: what users say. In this Rob had become a bad interface, inconsistent, unreliable.
Speaker 1: You I out of sink with back end. After work,
Speaker 1: I stopped at the market, buying too much, not because
Speaker 1: I needed it, but to fill the evening. At home,
Speaker 1: I stuffed vegetables in the fridge his favorites, a habit
Speaker 1: born of better times, and poured a glass of wine.
Speaker 1: My hands were shaking. I made myself an omelet ate half,
Speaker 1: then threw the rest out. I didn't wait up for Rob.
Speaker 1: I left the lights on deliberately and went to bed,
Speaker 1: with my genes still on the iPad, glowing beside me
Speaker 1: like a witness. When Rob finally came in late, his
Speaker 1: laptop bag thumping against the door, I feigned sleep, eyes
Speaker 1: mostly closed. He paused, as if deciding whether to speak
Speaker 1: then crossed the room and got ready in the dark.
Speaker 1: I pretended not to hear the shower, even though the
Speaker 1: pipes wind. He slipped into bed, sighing. I felt his
Speaker 1: presence beside me, but didn't turn. I wouldn't give him
Speaker 1: the comfort of my usual questions. The next day, rain
Speaker 1: streaked the glass in lines as precise as fault codes.
Speaker 1: Rob left in a rush, calling something about early deck review.
Speaker 1: Alex needs my slides, and I nodded from the kitchen,
Speaker 1: not facing him. My lucky hoodie felt heavy with his scent.
Speaker 1: The morning spun out again. At noon, I called out
Speaker 1: of work Migrin. I told h R. It was a
Speaker 1: small rebellion, one that left me feeling raw. I spent
Speaker 1: half the afternoon rereading the texts between Rob and Meyer,
Speaker 1: fixing them in memory so that his denials, if any,
Speaker 1: couldn't twist the facts again. I printed out a handful,
Speaker 1: just the ones too direct to argue. There were jokes
Speaker 1: in their code, tender flirtations, a distinct short hand that
Speaker 1: once belonged only to Rob and me. At three twelve,
Speaker 1: I texted, can you be home by seven? Need to talk?
Speaker 1: His answer was immediate, Absolutely everything okay? I didn't respond,
Speaker 1: which was answer enough. That hour before seven passed in
Speaker 1: a kind of slow motion stutter. I laid out my
Speaker 1: stack of evidence, my hands perfectly steady, though somewhere beneath
Speaker 1: the surface, terror thudded. It couldn't be postponed. I made tea.
Speaker 1: I sat at the kitchen table, the iPad centered between us,
Speaker 1: phone to one side, the tiny brown envelope with print
Speaker 1: outs peeking out, a neat tableau, sharp as any product demo.
Speaker 1: When Rob opened the door, he looked almost hopeful, that
Speaker 1: mask of tired charm he wore for pitch meetings. Hey han,
Speaker 1: he said, voice soft, surveying the room, what's up? Sit down?
Speaker 1: He paused, hung his jacket carefully, and sat opposite me.
Speaker 1: I watched him, wanting to memorize what he looked like
Speaker 1: before the world bent. He inhaled, bracing for bad news.
Speaker 1: I know about Maya, I said. It was hard in
Speaker 1: a way to hear my voice come out so flat.
Speaker 1: Rob's face twitched, first confusion, then caution, what do you mean?
Speaker 1: I slid the iPad over, texts still open silently. I
Speaker 1: passed him the envelope, hotel receipts, the dinner event photo,
Speaker 1: the printed threads from their conversations. His fingers hesitated on
Speaker 1: each item, like he thought maybe they could be skipped
Speaker 1: if he moved fast enough. What is this? His voice
Speaker 1: at first was defiant. I didn't blink. I read the messages.
Speaker 1: I know how many nights you lied. I know about
Speaker 1: the dinners, the hotel, the gala, the fake founder only rules.
Speaker 1: I know you've been with her physically, emotionally. I know
Speaker 1: you built a whole new story with her, one that
Speaker 1: only worked if you made me disappear. His mouth opened,
Speaker 1: words choking off. It's not I mean, han, it's not
Speaker 1: that simple. I swear to God, it wasn't. Wasn't what
Speaker 1: an affair? He looked down, shoulders rising and falling. His
Speaker 1: next words were a whisper. It started as just networking.
Speaker 1: We clicked then, I don't know. I felt seen. She
Speaker 1: wanted the same things I was in over my head.
Speaker 1: I didn't plan for anything to happen. I was drowning
Speaker 1: after pivotry, after the last mess I needed someone who
Speaker 1: didn't see me as a failure. So you slept with her,
Speaker 1: I said, voice breaking on the word. And then you
Speaker 1: kept sleeping with her all while I made you dinner
Speaker 1: ran your errands, covered your health care, and told your
Speaker 1: friends you were just busy. His eyes filled, wet and
Speaker 1: wild with shame. He looked away. It wasn't supposed to
Speaker 1: be like that. I never wanted to hurt you, but
Speaker 1: you did. With every lie, every evasion, you hurt me anyway.
Speaker 1: A pause, heavy and long, he wiped his face. I thought,
Speaker 1: if I could just close a deal, find a win,
Speaker 1: then I could come back to you and fix everything.
Speaker 1: That's not how trust works. He shook his head, jaw clenched, defensive.
Speaker 1: You don't get it, Han, You moved ahead at bright Spark,
Speaker 1: you thrived, and I was running in circles every day.
Speaker 1: It was just you, even our friends reminding me what
Speaker 1: I lost. She mire. She never asked about the past.
Speaker 1: She didn't know me as a fuck up. So you
Speaker 1: blew up our five years. You lied over and over,
Speaker 1: you gas lit me. Rob My voice was steel. Now
Speaker 1: why not just tell the truth? His voice turned pleading.
Speaker 1: I kept telling myself it would end, that I could
Speaker 1: end it and you'd never know, and things would just reset,
Speaker 1: a tired, tragic logic. Would you have ended it if
Speaker 1: I never found out? He swallowed. I don't know. Maybe
Speaker 1: I wanted to. I was scared. I thought you'd hate me.
Speaker 1: He finally looked at me, hollow, emptied. But I miss you.
Speaker 1: I hate what I did. I'm so sorry, Han, I
Speaker 1: don't know how to fix it. I don't either. For
Speaker 1: a minute, neither of us said anything. Raindrops pattered at
Speaker 1: the window. In that silence, five years of rituals and
Speaker 1: ordinary joys, our little jokes, our Sunday checkins, all of
Speaker 1: it shimmered, weightless and unreal, before crumbling into something I
Speaker 1: could never patch. I nudged the stack of evidence closer.
Speaker 1: You need to leave now, he didn't argue. His shoulders
Speaker 1: curled inward. He stood, taking nothing with him, then stopped
Speaker 1: at the threshold. Han, Please, I'll do anything. Please don't
Speaker 1: let this be the end. I shook my head, numb.
Speaker 1: It's not up to you. He turned, shuddered, then slipped
Speaker 1: his keys on to the table and walked out the
Speaker 1: door into the dark, leaving it just barely Ajar. I
Speaker 1: let myself fall into the chair. The rage, the grief,
Speaker 1: they came in waves. But the strangest part was the relief,
Speaker 1: the not having to wonder, the gift of certainty, even
Speaker 1: if it was the kind that scorched. My phone buzzed
Speaker 1: a message from Monica. You okay, I thumbed back, no,
Speaker 1: but I will be A cold draft crept into the
Speaker 1: kitchen through the cracked door, fluttering the evidence on the table.
Speaker 1: I got up, closed it softly, and wiped the last
Speaker 1: trace of Rob's finger prints from the stainless steel handle.
Speaker 1: I packed a bag just the essentials, laptop charger, worn
Speaker 1: navy sweater that always made me feel like myself, toiletries,
Speaker 1: a note book with half finished game night tallies, my
Speaker 1: running shoes. I grabbed the folder of print outs, hesitated,
Speaker 1: then left it on the counter. It didn't belong to me,
Speaker 1: not any more. I texted Monica, asking if her couch
Speaker 1: was She answered instantly, always, I'll make coco. I left
Speaker 1: a brief note on the fridge for Rob. More out
Speaker 1: of habit than anything. We'll be at monica s need space.
Speaker 1: Don't contact me for now. I turned off the lights,
Speaker 1: went back, turned them on again. Unwilling to leave the
Speaker 1: house cold and dead. On the way out, I reached
Speaker 1: behind the bookshelf and found my emergency stash of chocolate,
Speaker 1: A tiny act of kindness to myself on the threshold.
Speaker 1: Keys in hand. I took one last look at the apartment.
Speaker 1: It looked untouched, staged for an open house, familiar objects,
Speaker 1: drained of meaning, as if this had always been some
Speaker 1: one else's home. I closed the door behind me, the
Speaker 1: click echoing fixed and final. At monica s she didn't
Speaker 1: ask for details. She handed me the cocoa, sat quietly
Speaker 1: on the opposite side of the couch. Eventually, I said,
Speaker 1: he cheated. It was all I could manage. She put
Speaker 1: her hand on my shoulder, neither comment nor question, anchoring
Speaker 1: me without words. My phone vibrated a message from Julia,
Speaker 1: my sister. She must have heard from Monica. We spoke
Speaker 1: only a moment, her voice blurred with tears. I told
Speaker 1: her I couldn't talk. We let the quiet say what
Speaker 1: we needed. Grief measured not in words, but in the long,
Speaker 1: unbroken interval of breath. An hour later, notification Emil from
Speaker 1: Alex Rob's partner, Rob dropped from pitch. If you want
Speaker 1: to stay in on product, let's discuss. Sorry for the mess.
Speaker 1: I closed my laptop, I canceled the calendar, getaway, removed
Speaker 1: Rob's shared access, toggled my status to single, and blocked
Speaker 1: his name from my phone. Everything practical, done in clicks
Speaker 1: and keystrokes, a theater of resolution. I curled up on
Speaker 1: Monica's unfamiliar guest sheets, exhausted but awake, staring at the
Speaker 1: slice of city lights across the wall. My body ached,
Speaker 1: but it was a cleaner kind of pain. There would
Speaker 1: be other battles, work, the division of things, a hundred
Speaker 1: explanations to friends, But for now there was only the small,
Speaker 1: profound relief of no longer being unsure. Early, before Monica
Speaker 1: could wake and offer more comfort than I could stand,
Speaker 1: I padded out to her tiny balcony, mug of reheated
Speaker 1: coffee in hand. The city was soft, sunrise bleeding lavender
Speaker 1: on to rain washed roof tops. I breathed in, chest tight,
Speaker 1: the weight in my sternham finally loosening. I unlocked my phone,
Speaker 1: pressed on Rob's contact, the thread of years, photos, old jokes,
Speaker 1: voice memos from Paris, blurry gifts of ram and bowls,
Speaker 1: the daily accumulations of a relationship, thumb hovering, heart pounding.
Speaker 1: I pressed delete. It was done. My hands shook, but
Speaker 1: my face was calm. I let the phone slip from
Speaker 1: nerveless fingers into the blanket. My chest felt hollowed, skin
Speaker 1: tight around bones, the raw air on Monica's balcony, the
Speaker 1: staleness off my thoughts. Beyond the railing. Queen Anne's rooftops
Speaker 1: sat damp and clean, their messy geometry bathed purple by
Speaker 1: first light. In my palm, the warmth from the mug
Speaker 1: was steady anchoring. But after the adrenaline of confrontation, of escape,
Speaker 1: the aftermath came in its own flavors. Numbness edged by shame, fury,
Speaker 1: flickering like a faulty back light, and the strange alertness
Speaker 1: of being finally awake. Small sounds, the click of Monika's cupboard,
Speaker 1: someone's distant radio, a delivery truck's breaks cut through the dawn.
Speaker 1: It all sounded foreign, as if I lived in a
Speaker 1: different frequency. I shivered, tugging my sweater closer, and suddenly
Speaker 1: realized I hadn't actually let myself cry, not since the start.
Speaker 1: Tears threatened a prickling behind my eyes, but I was
Speaker 1: too tired for them, too emptied. I just sat watching
Speaker 1: the city stretch into itself and wondered if rob even
Speaker 1: understood the scale of what he detonated, or if he'd
Speaker 1: wake just as dazed already rehearsing what story to tell
Speaker 1: his mother to Alex, to Meyer, messages pinged in muted
Speaker 1: through focus mode, Julia's checkins, Alyx's apology for the mess
Speaker 1: even an automated invoice reminder from Neon Works. My relationship
Speaker 1: was already being recalculated by bots, scheduling algorithms, hoovering up
Speaker 1: traces of the last five years and slotting them under
Speaker 1: canceled no show declined. I scrolled through them with mechanical detachment,
Speaker 1: deleting what could be deleted, flagging anything I'd need if
Speaker 1: things got uglier, receipts, appointment keys, screenshots. It was all
Speaker 1: so transactional, so thoroughly twenty twenty four, ending a partnership
Speaker 1: via shared cloud storage and app permissions. Inside, Monica set
Speaker 1: a mug on the balustrade, her silhouette rimmed in gold,
Speaker 1: her voice gentle not to push, but do you want
Speaker 1: me to call in sick for you? Or should I
Speaker 1: take the day off so you're not alone? I shook
Speaker 1: my head, managing a thank you. I need to do
Speaker 1: at least a few things myself. The words felt stiff.
Speaker 1: I wasn't sure I believed them, but saying them forced
Speaker 1: a kind of momentum. Well, I'm around, she said. Her
Speaker 1: presence was mercifully light, more companion animal than confess her.
Speaker 1: She didn't push for details, and I couldn't have given
Speaker 1: them anyway. Some wounds you tend in privacy. When she
Speaker 1: ducked back inside, I checked my phone again, out of habit,
Speaker 1: the impulse to see if Rob had renegued or lashed
Speaker 1: out blamed me said something unforgivable. Instead, just two unread
Speaker 1: texts hann let me explain please, And half an hour later,
Speaker 1: I know it doesn't matter any more, but I'm sorry
Speaker 1: I didn't open them. I didn't need details I already knew.
Speaker 1: The day slid onward, painfully slow. After a shower, I
Speaker 1: forced myself to message Julia. She offered to come over,
Speaker 1: but I told her a slow day was what I needed.
Speaker 1: I ate a yogurt, barely tasting it, and browsed apartment
Speaker 1: listings with a kind of masochistic intent. Most were out
Speaker 1: of budget or half way across town, admissible only as
Speaker 1: proof that I had options there. It was freedom and
Speaker 1: excel in the same search result. Not long afternoon, Tim
Speaker 1: called breathless his phone, amplifying the clang of a crosswalk,
Speaker 1: just checking everything all right? Rob called me, said, you
Speaker 1: guys hit a patch. I flushed, anger and sadness sloshing together,
Speaker 1: but I kept my voice even Yeah, it's a lot.
Speaker 1: I need to regroup. He hesitated words, tumbling shit, hann
Speaker 1: I'm sorry. I didn't want to pry. You need anything, really,
Speaker 1: ride company, clean, murder, alibi you text? I know, thanks, Tim,
Speaker 1: I even meant it, suddenly achingly grateful for ordinary, non
Speaker 1: judgmental kindness. After the call, I finally cried, not the
Speaker 1: operatic wailing the movies promised, but a quiet eddy overflow,
Speaker 1: messy and unfixable. It came and went each SOB was
Speaker 1: anchored to a different scene, a ramah night, a rainy
Speaker 1: walk home. Rob's voice soft in sleep, his code laced banter.
Speaker 1: I'm more not only the man I had lost, but
Speaker 1: the project of us, the hopefulness that let us imagine
Speaker 1: a shared future. It was like grieving a vanished home.
Speaker 1: By three, I found myself drifting. Old routines, tried to
Speaker 1: muscle in, but without structure, without Rob's variable schedule, his texts,
Speaker 1: his odd culinary cravings for kobochas squash. At midnight, the
Speaker 1: day was shapeless, depressive. I forced myself out for a
Speaker 1: run on the damp sidewalks, headphones pounding, losing my breath
Speaker 1: before my thoughts. The cold air strung and brought me
Speaker 1: back into my body, reminding me I existed outside the
Speaker 1: crash sight of our marriage. Before I turned back, my
Speaker 1: phone buzzed an email from h R at Bright Spark,
Speaker 1: checking in heard through the Grapevin about some personal issues.
Speaker 1: Take all the time you need, softly parental, expedient and
Speaker 1: as impersonal as you'd expect from an org where turnover
Speaker 1: was measured in months. Returning to Monica S, I was
Speaker 1: half way up the stairs when my phone rang Alex
Speaker 1: again voicemail, this time, Hey Hannah, I don't know exactly
Speaker 1: what's going on, but I'm sorry Rob stepping back from
Speaker 1: all kof under stuff. If you want to keep the
Speaker 1: product advisory roll, let's chat. If not, no hard feelings,
Speaker 1: hope you're okay. Every word a tidy excision. The story
Speaker 1: repackaged and shipped to third parties for disposal. I didn't respond. Instead,
Speaker 1: I went to the guest room, powered up my laptop
Speaker 1: and outlined what would need undoing password changes, banking logistics, inventory,
Speaker 1: of what was truly mine versus ours. There was comfort,
Speaker 1: bitter but real, in the clarity of tasks. Block calendar invites,
Speaker 1: cancel the air. Impede suggested for are never to happen,
Speaker 1: get away, remove shared folders, to authorize his devices on
Speaker 1: my Spotify, the streaming equivalent of locking the door. An
Speaker 1: hour after sunset, Julia arrived with two pints of ice
Speaker 1: cream and a look I recognized from childhood, fierce defense
Speaker 1: clashing with heartbreak. We didn't talk about rob Instead, we
Speaker 1: made grilled cheese, watched a stand up special I only
Speaker 1: half registered, and let our feet tangle over the pile
Speaker 1: of thrifted blankets. Monica kept for emergencies. Healing wasn't the point,
Speaker 1: not yet, Survival was. As the news of our separation
Speaker 1: seeped into the periphery, group chats, shifting mutual friends sending
Speaker 1: cautious thinking of you texts, I started to see the
Speaker 1: web that had held us together unravel from every direction.
Speaker 1: Monica fielded a call from Leslie, who wanted to know
Speaker 1: if the thing with Meyer would ruin game night. I texted,
Speaker 1: tell her it's fine, I don't care. Later, Monica found
Speaker 1: me in the hallway, hair damp from her own shower.
Speaker 1: Want a crash in my room to night? You look
Speaker 1: like you haven't slept since ever. No, I'll be okay,
Speaker 1: I swallowed, noticing again how raw my voice sounded. I
Speaker 1: just need quiet. She nodded, and we exchanged the kind
Speaker 1: of look you only get with old friends, both of
Speaker 1: us knowing what it meant to wait out a storm.
Speaker 1: At midnight, lying in the dark, I drafted two e mails,
Speaker 1: one to our landlord alerting them to the coming sublet
Speaker 1: and division of deposit, the other to Rob, subject line blank.
Speaker 1: For a long time, I just stared at the blinking cursor,
Speaker 1: fighting the urge to write something vindictive. In the end,
Speaker 1: all I managed was don't contact me unless it's urgent.
Speaker 1: I need space. We'll sort logistics next week. No signature,
Speaker 1: I pressed zend. In the early hours, the high whine
Speaker 1: of Rob's text tone buzzed on my phone. Apology piling
Speaker 1: on apology, a fumbling offering of explanations and rewrites of history.
Speaker 1: This time, I muted the thread, deleted his voice mail
Speaker 1: as soon as it appeared enough. When dawn crept lithe
Speaker 1: under the blinds. Monica had slipped a note under my
Speaker 1: door let me know if you want bagels or something stronger.
Speaker 1: I smiled for the first time in days. The next
Speaker 1: step was the hardest, actually facing the relics of our life,
Speaker 1: furniture photos, the flame orange mug from our first hackethon.
Speaker 1: Dread tangled with determination as I made a list, box
Speaker 1: by box, all the minor architecture of a shared existence
Speaker 1: now to be dismantled, divided by asterisks and dollar value.
Speaker 1: I braced for anger, for bargaining for scenes, but the
Speaker 1: immediate consequences were more quietly brutal. The logistics of separation,
Speaker 1: the slow shifting of friends, the discipline required not to
Speaker 1: fall into old habits. A text sent automatically, a joke
Speaker 1: phrased for his approval each time, I stopped myself marveling
Speaker 1: at the sheer muscle memory of togetherness. Three days later,
Speaker 1: Rob sent a single final message, not the esse length
Speaker 1: confessions of before, just I get it. I'll move out
Speaker 1: by Friday. I'm sorry for the last time I didn't answer.
Speaker 1: In that silence, I felt the boundary set a perimeter
Speaker 1: he couldn't cross, and now, ritual by ritual, I erased
Speaker 1: him from my infrastructure, canceled our meal kit, changed my
Speaker 1: emergency contacts, created a single list titled only Next, with
Speaker 1: things that belonged entirely to me, my name squared off
Speaker 1: and underscored, untangled from his, the apartment keys set on
Speaker 1: the table for him to find, the last utilities scheduled
Speaker 1: to my name at the core, an odd kind of peace,
Speaker 1: the world under my feet again, no longer subject to
Speaker 1: his edits or excuses. On Monica's balcony again, later, the
Speaker 1: city breathing around me, I allowed myself to exhale for
Speaker 1: what felt like the first time since that message from
Speaker 1: the VC assistant. Morning sun caught the edge of rain
Speaker 1: still beading on the rail, refracting into little prisms. Not
Speaker 1: ready for hope yet, but ready at least to stop mourning.
Speaker 1: I sipped coffee and watched a young couple walk hand
Speaker 1: in hand down the street, bundled against the cold, grinning
Speaker 1: into each other's faces as if they were the only
Speaker 1: two in Seattle. There was longing there, yes, and a sharp,
Speaker 1: wistful envy, but there was no bitterness, only the quiet,
Speaker 1: unfamiliar steadiness of inhabiting my own skin. My phone lay
Speaker 1: beside me, empty of Rob's name, my calendar full of
Speaker 1: blank space and possibility. The concrete weight of heartbreak had
Speaker 1: become something freer, if still unknown. The city below me brightened,
Speaker 1: buses groaning to life, promise and sorrow stitched together in
Speaker 1: every edge of cloud. For now, there would be no
Speaker 1: new rituals, not just yet, no Friday happy hours, no
Speaker 1: Raman nights, just a future uncoded, open enough to edge into.
Speaker 1: In the cold golden light, I felt the pulse of possibility,
Speaker 1: the sweetness of life moving onward, clean and unchanged by
Speaker 1: any one else's map but mine. And that is the end.
Speaker 1: Thank you for listening, and I will see you in
Speaker 1: the next one.