When My Boyfriend Chose His Coworker Over Me

The showcase was in the firm's main conference hall. They'd transformed it. White walls. Track lighting. Little placards with country names on each table. India. Morocco. Italy. And tucked in the back corner, between the Japanese ceramics and the Brazilian textiles: Charleston.

My table.

I spent three weeks on the display. Four textile panels, each one a coastal landscape stitched from memory. Salt marsh at sunrise. Live oak shadows. The harbor at dusk. And at the center, on a small wooden stand: my mother's embroidery hoop.

I positioned it carefully. The carved wood caught the light. The grain was smooth under my fingers when I adjusted it one last time.

People started arriving. Wine glasses. Small plates. Laughter that echoed off the high ceilings.

A woman in a navy blazer stopped at my table. She leaned in close to one of the panels. "This is extraordinary," she said. "The detail work. How long did this take?"

"About sixty hours," I said. My voice came out steadier than I expected.

She pulled a card from her purse. "I collect fiber art. May I have your information?"

I gave her my card. My hand didn't shake.

She smiled and moved on.

I stood there. My chest felt light. Like something had loosened.

Across the room, Kade laughed at something Leslie said. His boss clapped him on the shoulder. They hadn't looked my way once.

I told myself it was fine. He was working. This was a work event. He'd come over later.

Another guest paused. Then another. A man asked about my technique. A woman wanted to know if I took commissions.

I answered their questions. I smiled. I felt like I was standing up straight for the first time in years.

Then I saw Leslie walking toward me.

She held a glass of red wine. Her ivory dress was perfect. Her smile was perfect. She stopped at my table and looked at the panels.

"These are lovely," she said. Her voice was warm. Public. "You're very talented, Ivy."

"Thank you."

She stepped closer. Her eyes moved over the display. They landed on the embroidery hoop.

"Is this part of the exhibit?"

"It was my mother's," I said. "She made it."

Leslie reached out like she was going to touch it. I almost stepped forward. Almost said something.

Then she stumbled.

It happened fast. Her heel caught. Her arm swung out. Her hand hit the edge of the table.

The embroidery hoop fell.

It hit the floor.

The sound was small. A crack. Clean and final.

I looked down.

Two pieces. The wood split right through the center.

I dropped to my knees. My hands were shaking. I picked up both halves and held them together like they might fuse back if I just pressed hard enough.

Leslie's voice came from above me. "Oh my god. Ivy. I'm so sorry. I didn't see it there."

I looked up. She stood over me, one hand over her mouth, her eyes wide.

People were staring.

I looked across the room. Kade was watching. His boss stood next to him. Leslie's hand was still over her mouth.

I waited.

Kade walked over. His steps were measured. Controlled. He stopped at the edge of my table and looked down at me kneeling on the floor with the broken hoop in my hands.

"What happened?" he asked.

My voice came out thin. "It broke."

Leslie stepped forward. "I'm so sorry, Kade. It was an accident. I lost my balance."

Kade glanced at the broken wood. Then at Leslie. Then at me.

"It's just a piece of wood, Ivy," he said. His voice was quiet. Reasonable. "Don't make a scene."

I stared at him.

He looked uncomfortable. His boss was still watching. Leslie's hand dropped from her mouth. She looked at Kade. Then at me.

"I really am sorry," she said again.

Kade nodded at her. Then he looked at me. "Can you get up? People are looking."

I stood. My legs felt numb. I set the broken pieces on the table. My hands were still shaking.

Kade's boss said something about the Brazilian textiles. Kade turned and walked back with him. Leslie followed.

I stood at my table. The panels hung on the wall behind me. The collector's card was in my pocket. The broken hoop sat in two pieces on the white tablecloth.

Someone asked me a question. I didn't hear it. I smiled and nodded.

The showcase went on. Music played. People laughed. Wine glasses clinked.

I picked up the two halves of the hoop and held them in my lap.

I didn't cry.

I just sat there, running my thumb along the broken edge, and felt something inside me snap as cleanly as the wood.