Ruth, whose profile picture on our workplace Slack had been a static, default monogram for five years, suddenly changed it to a cute minimalist brown bear. I found it mildly amusing. On a whim, I took a screenshot of the little bear’s paw and set it as my own avatar—a quiet, private joke between us. That evening was the company quarterly dinner. Ruth, who usually ignored the casual group chats, personally posted the announcement. Jesse was the first to reply: "Understood, boss!f" The thread went quiet for a moment before someone ventured a teasing comment: "Hey, Jesse, are you and Ruth wearing matching couple avatars? Is tonight's dinner actually an engagement party or what?" Ruth replied instantly: "The kid is shy. Don't tease him." The group erupted with laughing and cheering emojis. My heart stuttered. I quietly opened my profile settings and changed my avatar back to a generic landscape. Five years in a secret relationship. Suddenly, it all felt incredibly hollow. 1. Leaving the main company channel, I tapped on my dad's chat. There was a message from three hours ago, asking if I could make it home for dinner this weekend. His tone was hesitant, almost fragile, carrying a quiet ache that made my throat tighten. Tears pricked my eyes. I typed back: I'm coming home tonight. For the past five years, I had neglected my family for Ruth. On my dad's birthday, I had stayed up late knitting a designer scarf for her. When my mother was hospitalized, I had spent the night pacing in my apartment, worrying about Ruth because she had only eaten half a bowl of soup at her meeting. I had smiled and declined weekend ski trips and hiking invites from my closest friends, always offering the same excuse: "Ruth doesn't really like the cold," or "Ruth prefers quiet weekends." I had built my entire universe around her. But I didn't want to live in her orbit anymore. At 5:00 PM sharp, I packed my things and clocked out. Passing the executive suite, I ran into Ruth. She looked stressed, brushing some damp coffee off her sleeve. "Drew, go grab an XL merino wool thermal layer from the shop downstairs and bring it to my office." She looked at me briefly, her gaze cool and detached, as if addressing a stranger. This was how we survived five years in the office together. Pure professionalism. I clenched my fists, tasting the familiar bitterness of my own silence. Size XL. That was Jesse's size. When I didn't move or speak, her brow furrowed. She didn't explain. She just stood there, waiting for my compliance, just like all the other times. When Jesse's apartment pipes burst, she had pulled away from me mid-embrace, leaving without a word. When Jesse's stomach ulcer flared up, she had abandoned me on our bathroom floor, writhing in abdominal pain, to drive to his side. She never explained. She deemed it beneath her. In her mind, as her partner, I was expected to be understanding. To have blind, absolute trust. I lowered my eyes, tired down to my bones. "It's five o'clock, Ruth. I'm off the clock. I'm going home." I kept my voice perfectly flat and walked away, ignoring the sudden darkening of her expression. I drove out to the west side, taking the long route to buy the pastries and braised short ribs my parents loved. Watching their faces light up with joy, a dull ache bloomed in my chest. No matter how far I drove or how much effort I put into buying things Ruth liked, she always met me with a cool, clinical detachment. Sometimes, she even scolded me. "Drew, are you an idiot? Driving three hundred miles in a storm just to find a vintage vinyl record? Can you not weigh the cost against the benefit?" I was an idiot. Halfway through dinner, my phone buzzed. It was Ruth. Upset? Why? The warmth in the room vanished. I scrolled through our chat history. The times she initiated contact were laughably rare. Most of it was me sending updates, talking to myself in a digital void. This text was actually quite long for her. I let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh and locked the screen. The short ribs in my mouth tasted like ash. My parents noticed. My dad hesitated, his voice gentle. "Drew, did you and Ruth have a fight?" I shook my head. My dad hesitated again. "You’re twenty-eight now. Have you two talked about the future? About marriage?" "Dad," I interrupted, setting my fork down. A sudden, cold clarity washed over me. "We're not getting married." "We... aren't right for each other." 2. Before bed, Ruth called. The line was silent. She was waiting for me to apologize first, as I always did. But this time, I matched her silence, breathing quietly into the receiver. Finally, her patience snapped. Her voice was low, laced with controlled annoyance. "Drew. Explain." Two words. Spartan, as always. I let out a soft laugh, mocking myself more than her. "Is there an issue with me leaving work on time, Ruth?" Silence on the other end for two beats. Then, a sharp, irritated breath. "What is this tantrum about, Drew? Because I asked you to buy a thermal shirt? Because you skipped the company dinner?" "I told you, Jesse is just a kid. He’s like a younger brother." A younger brother. That was the lie she used to keep her conscience clean. But everyone in the company saw the blatant, shameless favoritism. In five years of dating, she had never agreed to a matching avatar, and getting her to say "I love you" in private was like pulling teeth. I was just so incredibly tired. "Didn't you always say we keep work and personal life strictly separate? I left at five. What's the problem?" "Since when are company dinners mandatory?" Ruth choked on her words. I could picture her face—darkened, eyes cold with disappointment and disapproval. "Drew, how old are you?" My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone, my lips pressed into a tight line. Drew, can you be rational for once? Drew, grow up. Drew, why can't you be more like Jesse? I had heard those phrases so many times they had worn grooves into my mind. Every single time, they made me want to cry, but I had always swallowed the tears. This time, I just smiled. "I'm twenty-eight, Ruth." "Are you really going to be this stubborn?" Her voice flared with genuine anger. Before I could answer, she hung up. My hand froze in the air. The tears I had held back finally spilled over, hot and bitter. I pressed my face into the pillow, muffled my sobs, and felt my chest ache as if it were physically splitting apart. In the middle of the night, the company group chat suddenly erupted. Dozens of photos and videos flooded the thread. I opened them. I saw Ruth—the untouchable, stoic Ruth—flushed and drunk, leaning her head softly against Jesse's shoulder. She was murmuring answers to whatever he was whispering. But the second video was the one that froze the blood in my veins. Ruth pulled a velvet box from her coat pocket, extracted a diamond ring, and slipped it onto Jesse's finger. Then, she leaned down and gently kissed the back of his hand. I stared at the screen, my mind completely blank, the chill creeping from my chest to my fingertips. I watched the loop over and over, analyzing her face. At that moment, the final, fragile thread holding me to her snapped. My vision blurred. Under the video, the comments rolled in: "Is that wedding bells I hear?" "Looks like Ruth had a little too much to drink and let the secret slip!" "I didn't know Ruth could be this soft. She's practically glowing." "Matching icons, rings... I'm buying a suit!" "Look at her Instagram!!! Go check it now!" My hands shook so violently I could barely tap the screen. I bit my lip until I tasted copper. I opened her Instagram. A woman who had never posted a single personal photo in five years had just posted a selfie with Jesse. Her eyes were hazy with alcohol, looking softer than I’d ever seen them. Jesse was leaning into her side, a shy, victorious smile on his lips. The public acknowledgment I had begged for over five years—Jesse got it just by existing. Something inside me shattered, scattering like glass across a concrete floor. I sat in the dark, unable to breathe, tears streaming down my face. I wanted to call her. I wanted to scream, to ask her why? Why did you treat me like a secret? Why does he get everything I was denied? Why did you lie to me? But my fingers couldn't find the strength to press the buttons. Eventually, I sank back onto the mattress, completely broken, and let the darkness take me. 3. I didn't sleep a wink. My eyes were bloodshot and swollen. Before the workday started, I messaged my department lead to request three days of personal leave. She approved it immediately. But barely two hours after I drifted off, my phone blared. It was my lead's number, but when I answered, Ruth’s voice cut through the line. "Drew. What is the reason for this sudden leave? No unauthorized leave without a valid medical reason. Have you forgotten company policy?" "Get to the office immediately. My office. Now." She sounded furious, hanging up before I could speak. My head throbbed with a feverish weight, but I forced myself to get dressed. When I reached the executive floor, my department lead was waiting by the door, looking anxious. "Ruth is in a terrible mood today, Drew. Just apologize, okay? Keep your head down." I forced a tight, lifeless smile. As I reached for the doorknob, laughter drifted from inside the office. "Ruth, this ring is absolutely stunning! I love the setting so much!" Ruth didn't answer, but the moment the door swung open and she saw me, her eyes hardened. "If you like it, keep it. Wear it for fun." Jesse's face lit up, and he threw his arms around her neck in an buy-in hug. My gaze fell on the ring. It was the exact same one from the video. It fit his finger perfectly. A wave of dizziness hit me. By the time I anchored myself, Ruth was standing right in front of me. "You've been crying?" She reached out, her fingers lightly touching my swollen eyelid. "Your skin is still so thin." I flinched away from her touch, my throat tightening again. Always this condescension. Always the subtle digs. In five years, she had never comforted me the way she comforted Jesse. If she had just lowered her guard once, I would have burned my world down for her. I let out a quiet, dry laugh. "Is there anything else, Ruth? Otherwise, I'll get back to work." "Drew!" "Ruth!" I snapped back, looking her dead in the eye for the first time. "Isn't this what you wanted? 'At work, we keep it professional.' I'm doing exactly what you asked. Why aren't you happy?" I turned on my heel and walked out, ignoring her stunned, furious gaze. Back at my desk, my head felt like it was filled with lead. By lunchtime, when Ruth walked through the department for an inspection, my vision went black, and I collapsed. When I woke up, I was in a sterile hospital room. A colleague from my team was sitting by the bed, practically bursting with curiosity. "Drew, Ruth was terrified. When you fainted, she was the first one to catch you. She carried you out herself." "What's really going on between you two?" I turned my face to the wall. The bitter taste of regret filled my mouth. Late that evening, Ruth finally walked in. She carried a container of soup. She pressed her palm to my forehead, and I saw a small, almost imperceptible flicker of relief in her eyes. "Your fever is down. Jesse made this soup. He insisted I bring it to you." "Why didn't you tell me you were sick? You're an adult, Drew. You should know how to take care of yourself." She pressed her lips together, her voice holding a rare edge of genuine concern. I saw it. But it felt like nothing. No warmth, no comfort. Just a chore she was checking off. I wanted to laugh. In her vocabulary, I would never hear the words, I'm so sorry you're hurting. "Let's break up." Ruth’s hand jerked. The soup container slipped, nearly spilling onto the floor. Her face tightened, anger flashing in her eyes, but she quickly masked it with her usual cool indifference. "And why is that?" Her tone made me feel like I was punching a brick wall. A profound exhaustion washed over me. I shook my head, letting out a hollow laugh. "I'm tired. Is that enough of a reason?" At the office, I was an employee. At home, I felt like a tenant. And here, in this hospital bed, I was still just a subordinate. I only wanted a partner who cared. Why was that so hard for her to give me? Yet, she did it so effortlessly for Jesse. 4. Ruth's breath hitched. For the first time, her icy composure cracked. "Drew, have I spoiled you too much?" "Over the years, your temper has only gotten worse. You could learn a thing or two from Jesse." The familiar weight settled over my chest. I closed my eyes, turning my back to her. Jesse. Always Jesse. The room fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. Finally, I heard her throw the soup into the trash can and walk out, slamming the heavy door behind her. I buried my face in the pillow, letting the tears soak into the fabric. My hands gripped the sheets so hard my nails dug into my palms, the copper taste of blood filling my mouth. When I was discharged three days later, the office was already buzzing with rumors. "Do you think Drew is some kind of social climber?" "Probably. I saw Jesse crying in the breakroom last week. Drew probably threatened him." "Everyone knows Ruth and Jesse are practically together. Drew is just trying to wedge himself in." "Some people will do anything for a promotion." The whispers followed me down the hallways. I tried to tune them out, but in the breakroom, I heard Brad—one of Jesse's close friends—say, "I wonder how many rich women he had to sleep with to get this position." The world tilted. Before I could think, my hand flew out and struck Brad across the face. We collided, slamming into the counters, tearing at each other's collars. By the time Ruth arrived, my shirt was ripped, my cheek was bruised, and a thin line of blood ran from my lip. I tried to lung forward again, but Ruth’s voice cut through the room like shattered glass. "Enough!" "Drew! Assaulting a coworker? You're acting like an animal!" "Apologize. Now." I stared at her, utterly speechless. Then I saw Jesse standing behind her, his eyes shining with unshed tears. I got it. I had hit Jesse’s friend, and Ruth was here to play protector. I let out a sharp, bitter laugh, and before anyone could stop me, I turned and delivered another hard slap to Brad’s face. "Drew!" Ruth roared. "Drew! How can you do this right in front of Ruth?" Jesse whimpered, shrinking back. Ruth's brow furrowed so deeply her eyes were almost hidden. "Assaulting a colleague?" I spat, looking directly at Ruth. "Is that what he told you?" "Am I wrong?" Ruth’s voice was venomous, her eyes dark with disgust. "If Jesse hadn't told me, I wouldn't have known how tyrannical and arrogant you've been acting in this department!" "Apologize to him immediately. Write a formal apology and post it to the entire company Slack channel. If this happens again, you're fired." I clenched my fists, my vision swimming. My chest ached so acutely I could barely draw air. Five years of memories flashed before my eyes, and in every single one, Ruth was standing on the opposite side, facing me like an adversary. Whenever Jesse was involved, she chose him. Every single time. "Ruth!" I screamed, my voice cracking under the weight of five years of silence. "Are you really that sure I'm the one who started this?" "Drew, your credibility with me is zero." Her voice was completely devoid of warmth. "You know exactly what you did. Don't make me say it again. Apologize. Now." I laughed. It was a terrible, broken sound. The very last ember of hope I had kept alive for her died right there. I should have known. I always knew. A fleeting shadow of regret crossed Ruth's eyes, her fingers twitching at her sides. With whatever strength I had left, I stepped forward and slapped Ruth across the face. The breakroom went dead silent. Jesse paled. "Drew! How could you strike Ruth?" I didn't look at him. I watched Ruth’s head slowly turn back toward me, her cheek blooming red. I wiped the blood from my lip, my tears dry. "We are done, Ruth." "I quit the job. And I quit you."
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