When My Boyfriend Let His Coworker Replace Me

The restaurant had those big windows that ran floor to ceiling. You could see the whole street from inside. Aylin sat across from Donovan, her fingers playing with the pendant at her throat. The same one. Silver. Two circles. I watched her touch it three times during the appetizers.

Kiara kicked my ankle under the table. I didn't look at her.

Marcus was telling some story about work. His girlfriend laughed. The server brought more water. Everything felt very normal except for the way Aylin kept glancing at Donovan, her face soft and worried.

"So my apartment's a disaster," she said finally, cutting into Marcus mid-sentence. "The heating just died. Landlord says it'll be a week before they can fix it."

She looked down at her plate. Pushed a piece of lettuce around with her fork.

"That's awful," someone said.

Aylin nodded. She tucked her hair behind her ear. The pendant swung forward, caught the light. "I don't really know what to do. Hotels are so expensive, and I can't afford —" She stopped. Shook her head. "Sorry. I shouldn't complain."

Donovan leaned forward. "You can crash at my place. I've got a couch."

He said it before I'd even swallowed my wine.

Aylin's face brightened. "Really? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, of course. No big deal."

I set my glass down. Carefully.

Kiara's foot pressed against mine again. Harder this time.

Donovan didn't look at me. Not once. Not to check if I'd heard. Not to see if I minded. He just smiled at Aylin and said something about bringing extra blankets, and she laughed that wind-chime laugh, and I sat there with my hands folded in my lap and thought: *this is what it feels like when someone stops seeing you in the room.*

I excused myself before dessert.

---

The parking lot was half-empty. I stood by Donovan's car and waited. The air smelled like rain coming.

He walked out five minutes later, keys already in his hand. He saw me and slowed. "You left early."

"The 26th," I said.

He stopped walking. "Steph. Not this again."

"That's the deadline. I told you."

"You're really going to do this? Right now?" He looked past me, toward the restaurant. "She needed help. What was I supposed to say?"

"You were supposed to ask me first."

"Ask you?" He let out a short laugh. "She's a friend. She's staying on my couch. You're acting like I invited her into my bed."

"You didn't even look at me."

"Because I knew you'd make it into something it's not." He rubbed his face. "This is exhausting, Steph. You're exhausting. Every conversation is an ultimatum. Every dinner is a test. I can't even help a friend without you turning it into some referendum on our relationship."

I felt the rain start. Small cold drops on my shoulders.

"The 26th," I said again.

Donovan shook his head. "You know what? Fine. Keep your deadline. Keep your astrologer's nonsense and your mom's superstitions and your business-negotiation timelines. But don't expect me to play along with this manipulation."

"It's not manipulation."

"Then what is it?"

I looked at him. Really looked. At the face I'd known since I was twenty-two. At the man who used to braid me bracelets and walk me home in the rain and remember the small things. I tried to find him in the person standing in front of me, annoyed, impatient, already halfway to his car.

I couldn't.

"It's a choice," I said quietly. "I'm asking you to choose."

He laughed again. Bitter this time. "You want me to choose? Fine. I choose not to be held hostage."

He got in his car. The engine started. I stood there in the rain and watched him pull out of the parking spot, watched the taillights disappear around the corner.

I stood there for a long time.

Then I started walking.

---

By the time I reached my apartment, my clothes were soaked through. My hair dripped onto the floor. I peeled everything off and got into the shower and stood under the hot water until it ran cold.

I called him.

Voicemail.

I called again.

Voicemail.

On the third try, I opened the app. The little green dot next to his name glowed. *Active now.*

He was online. He was seeing my calls. He was choosing not to answer.

I set the phone on the nightstand and lay down.

Sometime after two, the fever started. I felt it crawl up my spine, settle behind my eyes. My throat hurt. My skin hurt. I pulled the blankets up to my chin and shivered and stared at the ceiling.

I didn't call again.

I just lay there in the dark, burning, and thought: *this is what it feels like when someone lets you go.*