After My Partner Married the Office Maid

He came to my quarters on a Thursday evening. I heard the knock and knew it was him before I opened the door. He had a specific rhythm—three quick raps, authoritative, the knock of someone who expected to be let in.

I opened the door. He stood in the hallway with his hands in his pockets, still in his work clothes, looking like he'd come straight from the office.

"Hey," he said. "Got a minute?"

I stepped back. He came inside and glanced around like he was cataloging something. I closed the door and waited.

"So," he said. "I wanted to talk to you about something."

I pressed my thumbnail into my index finger. "Okay."

"There's been some tension in the workplace lately." He said it carefully, like he was reading from a script he'd rehearsed. "People have noticed. And I think it would be better for everyone if you could be more professional around Sloane."

I stared at him. "Professional."

"Yeah." He shifted his weight. "I know you two got off on the wrong foot, but she's part of the team now. And the dynamic has been uncomfortable."

"For who?"

"For everyone." He ran his hand through his hair. "Look, I'm not trying to make this a big thing. I just need you to make an effort. Be civil. Don't create problems where there don't need to be problems."

I looked at him for a long time. At the man who used to know how I took my coffee. The man who used to text me in the middle of the day just to say he missed me. The man who stood in my doorway now like I was a personnel issue that needed managing.

"When did I stop being your partner?" I asked quietly.

He blinked. "What?"

"When did I become your employee?"

"That's not fair," he said.

"No," I said. "It isn't."

He looked at me like I'd said something unreasonable. Like I was the one making this difficult. Then he sighed and shook his head.

"I don't want to fight," he said. "I just need you to work with me here."

He left. The door clicked shut behind him. I sat on the edge of my bed and pressed my thumbnail into my finger until the skin went white. Then I stared at the wall and didn't move for a long time.

The next day I went to lunch late. The picnic table outside the main building was full when I got there—day shift staff clustered around trays of cafeteria food, talking and laughing in the thin midday sun.

Bryson was there. Sloane sat next to him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. She leaned in to show him something on her phone and he tilted his head to see, smiling at whatever she was saying. She laughed. He laughed. Easy and warm, the way he used to be with me before everything got complicated.

I stood there with my tray. The only open seat was across from them.

I sat down.

For forty minutes I ate my food and listened to them talk. Sloane told a story about something that happened at her last posting. Bryson asked questions. She touched his arm when she laughed. He didn't move away.

Nobody spoke to me. Carla was two seats down, talking to someone else. I might as well have been invisible.

I finished my food. I picked up my tray and walked back inside. Nobody noticed.

That night I went to his office. It was after eight. The building was mostly empty. I knocked and he called for me to come in.

He looked up from his computer. "Hey. What's up?"

I closed the door behind me and stood there for a second, choosing my words.

"I need to talk to you," I said.

He leaned back in his chair. "Okay."

"I've spent five years here," I said. "I followed you to this place. I put my career on hold. I waited for the position you promised me. I built my life around your ambitions. And I need to know if you're going to honor what you said. The position. The future. The partnership."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he sighed.

"You sound like you're issuing an ultimatum," he said.

"I'm asking a question."

"It feels like an ultimatum." He rubbed his face. "And that's not what I want to come home to, Tessa. It's exhausting."

I stood very still.

"Sloane's presence is uncomplicated," he said. "She doesn't keep score. She doesn't make everything into a negotiation. You used to be like that too. Before you started keeping track of everything I owe you."

I looked at him. At the man I loved. The man I gave up everything for.

I nodded once.

Then I walked out of his office and closed the door behind me. I didn't slam it. I didn't say anything else. I just left.

I walked back to my quarters in the dark. The wind was cold and full of dust. Somewhere a rig motor growled and went silent.

I went inside and sat on the edge of my bed. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and opened the browser.

Greyhound. New York City. One way.

Last bus: 9:47 PM.

I stared at the screen for a long time.

Then I bought the ticket.