Chapter 2

The walk home was a blur of streetlights and faceless strangers. My mind was a movie screen, playing back every red flag I had willingly ignored. It started about three months ago, when Leo Davis joined Sophia's company as an intern.

I remembered the first time I saw them together after a long day at the office. I had come to pick her up, and I found them huddled over his laptop, their heads so close their hair was almost touching.

"Oh, Ethan!" she'd said, pulling back quickly. "Leo was just showing me his new project. It's brilliant."

I tried to be supportive. I even tried to talk to Leo, but he was always aloof, giving me one-word answers while looking at Sophia for approval.

A few weeks later, I had a bad flu. I was stuck in bed, feverish and aching. I called Sophia, hoping she could come home a little early.

"I can't, babe," she'd said, her voice distant over the phone. "Leo's having trouble with the investors' presentation. I have to help him. It's really important."

I spent that night alone, making my own soup and taking my own medicine. Later, I saw a picture on a colleague' s Instagram. Sophia and Leo were at a fancy rooftop bar, laughing with a group of people. The caption said, "Celebrating a successful pre-pitch!" She wasn't helping him with a presentation; she was celebrating with him. I felt a deep, hollow ache in my gut, a feeling of being completely and utterly unimportant.

I tried to talk to her about it the next day. "Sophia, it looked like you guys were out celebrating. I was sick. I needed you."

She waved her hand dismissively, not even looking up from her laptop. "Don't be so dramatic, Ethan. It was a team-building event. You know how important networking is. You're being too sensitive."

Was I? I started to doubt myself. Maybe she was right. Maybe I was being clingy. But the incidents kept piling up.

There was the weekend trip to the mountains we had planned for months. She canceled it at the last minute. "A huge project just came up," she explained. "Leo needs my help to pull it off."

That weekend, her social media was filled with pictures of her and Leo at a "work retreat," which looked suspiciously like a luxury spa resort. Her friends commented on the photos, things like, "You two look so good together!" and "Power couple!"

Each comment was a small jab. She never corrected them. She just let the narrative build: that she and Leo were a team, a unit. And I was... somewhere on the sidelines.

I remember staring at those pictures, the jealousy a bitter taste in my mouth. She had never posted about me like that. Our life together was private, she'd always said. But her professional life with Leo was a public spectacle.

When I confronted her about it, she threw her hands up in frustration. "It's for the brand, Ethan! We need to project an image of success. Leo is a huge part of that. Why are you so insecure? I need the freedom to run my company how I see fit."

The arguments became more frequent. She started staying out later and later. Sometimes, she wouldn't come home at all, claiming she and Leo had pulled an all-nighter at the office.

One night, I went to the office to surprise her with dinner. The main lights were off. I found them in a small conference room, the lights dimmed. They weren't working. They were watching a movie on a projector, a bottle of wine open on the table between them. She was leaning her head on his shoulder.

The sight sent a jolt through me. It was so intimate, so comfortable. They looked like a couple.

"What's going on here?" I asked, my voice tight.

Sophia jumped up, her face flushed. "Ethan! You scared me. We were just taking a break."

A break. Right.

I remembered how she took care of Leo. When he got a paper cut, she rushed to get him a bandage. When he said he was hungry, she ordered his favorite food. But when I was sick with the flu, she couldn't be bothered to come home.

I finally reached our apartment building. The lights were off. Of course, she wasn't home yet. She was probably still at the expo, celebrating with him.

I went inside. The apartment we had built together, filled with photos and memories, now felt cold and foreign. I looked at a picture on the wall from our trip to Italy two years ago. We were so happy then. What happened to us?

I walked into the bedroom and opened my closet. I didn't need much. I pulled out a duffel bag and started packing. A few pairs of jeans, some shirts, my laptop. I worked methodically, the simple actions a strange comfort in the middle of the storm in my head.

Just as I zipped the bag shut, I heard the front door open.

"Ethan? You're still up?" Sophia's voice was light, cheerful. Utterly clueless. The irony was so thick I could barely breathe.