When she came inside, I asked:
“Jake?”
“Yeah.”
“What happened?”
“He’s thinking about quitting his job again.”
“What job?”
“Something with outdoor gear.”
“He started that three months ago.”
“He hates the manager.”
I laughed.
“Of course.”
Emily’s expression shifted.
“You don’t have to judge him.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You kind of were.”
I stopped.
“Okay.”
Later, I began noticing that she talked to Jake about things she did not talk to me about.
Work frustration.
Arguments with her sister.
Her fear that she was not progressing fast enough professionally.
Her restlessness.
I would discover these conversations because Emily referenced them casually afterward.
“Jake thinks I should apply for the creative director opening.”
“You didn’t tell me there was one.”
“I was going to.”
Another time:
“Jake thinks I’ve become too cautious.”
“About what?”
“My career.”
“You switched companies eighteen months ago.”
“Exactly. Maybe I’m getting comfortable.”
The word comfortable began sounding suspiciously similar to trapped.
I brought it up carefully.
“Can I tell you something without it becoming an argument?”
Emily smiled.
“That sentence guarantees an argument.”
“I’m serious.”
“Okay.”
“I’m uncomfortable with how much you and Jake talk.”
Her face changed immediately.
“Why?”
“He’s your ex.”
“He’s also my friend.”
“I know.”
“Then what is the problem?”
“I don’t know. It feels like he’s becoming the person you go to first.”
“That’s not true.”
“Maybe.”
“Alex.”
I raised my hands.
“I’m not asking you to never speak to him.”
“Good, because that would be insane.”
“I’m telling you how it feels.”
Emily stared at me.
Then came the word that eventually became her answer to almost everything.
“Insecure.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“You’re being insecure.”
“I don’t think that’s fair.”
“Jake and I broke up years ago.”
“I know.”
“If I wanted him, I would be with him.”
At the time, that sounded logical.
So I trusted her.
A few months later, I found her scrolling through old photographs.
Not snooping.
She was beside me on the couch.
I saw the screen.
There was a picture of Emily and Jake on a beach during college.
His arms around her.
Her face pressed against his chest.
Both looked young and ridiculously happy.
Emily paused on it for a long time.
“Good trip?”
She jumped slightly.
Then looked irritated.
“Why are you watching my phone?”
“I’m sitting beside you.”
“These are old photos.”
“I know.”
“You want me to delete my entire life before you?”
“I didn’t ask you to delete anything.”
Her expression hardened.
“Memories don’t stop existing because someone new comes along.”
Someone new.
We had been together for almost three years.
I remember that phrase because I felt suddenly temporary.
Then I felt guilty for feeling that way.
That was becoming our pattern.
Emily crossed a boundary.
I expressed discomfort.
She redefined the discomfort as a flaw in me.
Then I apologized for the flaw.
Around the same time, my career changed.
My company had a major European engineering hub in Amsterdam.
I had worked remotely with that team for years.
They were building systems I genuinely cared about: large-scale machine-learning infrastructure, data pipelines, tools that would shape the direction of our products for years.
A senior engineering position opened.