I'd worked three years for the Design Director position, only to be passed over for the junior the general manager parachuted in.

She said, "You're getting older. You can't match the younger ones for creativity or energy. It's time you stepped aside."

I argued my case. "But every major project in this company was delivered under me!"

"Those were resources the company gave you. They don't prove your personal ability."

"Elise! You know perfectly well that—"

"Toby Henson! It's Ms. Fox to you. Inside this company I'm not your wife, I'm your superior. I'll thank you to cooperate with the personnel transfer."

Rudolph Simmons tried to smooth it over. "Ms. Fox, why don't I just let your husband have it?"

Elise didn't correct the way she'd addressed him. If anything, her tone softened.

"Company matters aren't a game of pretend. I've already informed HR. It's done, it can't be changed."

"You just settle into your seat. Whatever you don't understand, I'll teach you."

When she turned to me, her voice went bitterly cold.

"Your projects stay with you. You keep running them, and when they're ready you submit them to Rudolph for approval."

Meaning the work was still mine, but Rudolph would pick the fruit.

I looked at the face of this woman I'd been married to for five years and worked beside for eight, and I started to laugh.

"No need. I'm resigning right now."

The Design Director title, and the job of being Elise Fox's husband—I didn't want either of them.

...

When I got back to my desk to write up my resignation letter, Elise followed.

"You've been here eight years. Don't throw away everything you fought so hard for over one fit of temper."

"You're not some kid fresh out of school. Do I really have to explain this to you?"

So she did know everything I had was hard-won.

And yet she'd handed the fruit of it to someone else with her own two hands.

My eyes stung, but my fingers kept typing.

"Ms. Fox, it's working hours. Please don't tell your employees how to run their private lives."

Her breathing turned heavy. Aware of the eyes drifting our way, she dropped her voice.

"Do you have any idea? At your age, if you go out interviewing now, you'll get cut in the first round!"

"Don't be so naive!"

I pulled the resignation letter out of the printer and signed it without hesitation.

"Ms. Fox, will you approve it?"

She took it, her face dark.

"Toby Henson, are you really going to push this all the way?"

"I'm not pushing anything. I just don't want the job anymore."

"There are projects you still need to wrap up. If you walk out like this, what's Rudolph supposed to do?"

That was when it became clear. She didn't want to keep me from leaving—she wanted me to pave the road for her junior first, then go.

I opened my email and sent the resignation straight through, copying both Elise and HR.

"Can you approve it now?"

"I don't imagine Ms. Fox needs me going down to HR in person to explain that you're holding me up over a personal relationship?"

I knew how much she hated mixing the personal with the professional.

In eight years she'd never once let me into her office alone. Anything she needed, she'd come straight to my desk to say it.

Even when I wasn't feeling well, she'd never let me ride to or from work in her car.

When I worked late into the night and forgot to eat, she'd sooner text me to go pick up the delivery at the front desk than bring me a single bite herself.

And I never thought there was anything wrong with that.

Work was work, private was private. That was the rule we both lived by.

It wasn't until Rudolph arrived that I understood. So it turned out some principles weren't unbreakable after all—it just depended on who they were for.

He could eat in the cafeteria with her. He could leave his personal things in her office.

She could introduce him freely, "This is my junior, look after him for me."

But no one could be allowed to know I was her husband.

So I was certain she'd never let me go to HR.

The next second she pressed her lips together, and the words came out clipped, forced through her teeth:

"Fine. Don't come crying to me later."

"I'll handle the follow-up on Rudolph's project myself. Don't kid yourself that this company grinds to a halt without you."

"You've got one month to hand over everything to Director Simmons. After that, I won't stand in your way."

She didn't wait for an answer. She just turned and walked back into the general manager's office.

The last thing I saw before the door closed was her draping a blanket over Rudolph, asleep on the couch.

The stomach really is an emotional organ. No matter how hard I played at not caring, I couldn't ignore the dull ache of it.

It didn't stop me from pulling out my phone and typing a message:

"Resignation in one month. We can discuss the rest of the terms in person."

By the time I'd switched trains twice and made it home that night, Elise still wasn't back.

Normally she drove and I took the subway, and she always beat me home.

I sat on the couch in the dark, not bothering with the lights, and let my eyes move slowly around the home we'd lived in for five years.

Back then Elise hadn't made general manager yet. We were both just ordinary designers.

We scraped and saved for a long time before we could pull together the down payment on this place.

It was in a bad part of town. The layout was awkward.

None of that mattered to me, not next to the feeling of having somewhere that was ours.

But sitting here tonight, for some reason, it suddenly felt like a stranger's home.

At ten o'clock Elise came in, a cake in her hand.

I went still for a moment.

We'd never had the habit of celebrating our anniversary.

Maybe the day had gone badly enough that she wanted to smooth things over.

She seemed surprised to find me on the couch. "Still up?"

I crossed the room, and my hand stopped halfway out.

Only half the cake was left. The heart in the center had been dug out and eaten.

It took me a few seconds to confirm it wasn't some deliberate design.

She set the cake on the dining table without much thought.

"I bought it to celebrate Rudolph's promotion, but he only had a few bites and stopped, said he had to watch his figure."

"I remembered you mentioned a while back you wanted cake, so I brought the rest home for you."

My throat felt blocked. I couldn't make a sound.

Back when we were still paying off the mortgage, I never bought myself anything decent. I made do with hand-me-downs from the guys.

Even at the grocery store I picked the bruised, marked-down stuff.

The day we cleared the mortgage, I told her: I, Toby Henson, would never again take what someone else had left behind.

And now she was handing me leftover cake. Cake she'd bought for another man.

When the sound of her shower started, I began drafting the divorce papers on my phone.

The next morning, Elise stood at the elevator with me.

I looked at her, puzzled. This wasn't when she usually left.

She was smiling faintly, replying to a message, and said it like it was nothing:

"Rudolph's not feeling well today. I'll swing by and pick him up."

"If I remember right, his apartment is a forty-minute detour for you?"

"Forty minutes is nothing. Just a press of the gas."

The mirror in the elevator caught both our faces.

One worn down past hiding. The other glowing, eyes fixed on a phone.

But my mind was still stuck on what she'd just said.

I thought of the time I'd been out running an errand and it was pouring, and I asked her to drive to the subway exit and pick me up.

She'd said, "Just grab a cab back. Taking the car out is too much of a hassle."

A ten-minute trip was a hassle. Forty minutes was just a press of the gas.

When we reached the ground floor, she hesitated. "You want a ride?"

I shook my head and stepped out of the elevator.

She let out a breath and hit the button to close the doors.

When the display showed B1, I pulled out my phone and called Rudolph.

"I'm taking the morning off."

"Reason?"

"Buying a car."

"Did you tell Elise?"

"No need."

By the time the call ended, I was already in a cab headed to the dealership.

Look at the cars, test drive, sign, pay, pick it up.

It all wrapped up in less than half a day.

When I pressed the key and the car that was finally mine answered with a soft beep, it still didn't feel real.

That was when Elise remembered to call me.

I picked up.

"Toby Henson! Buying a car is a big deal—you couldn't run it by me first?"

"It's my own money."

"That's not what I meant. Do you even know what to look for? Get back here, I'll go with you when I have time."

"You've been saying that for two years."

"And I still rode the subway for two years."

She went quiet.

I parked at the office, and Elise was waiting in the lot.

"You drove it back by yourself? How long has it been since you've driven? Do you have any idea how dangerous that is?"

The way she looked at me, like she was actually worried, almost made me laugh.

When the heavy rain flooded the subway station and I walked two kilometers home, she hadn't worried.

When I twisted my ankle and limped to catch the subway every day, she hadn't worried.

When I worked past midnight and took a cab home alone, she hadn't worried.

Now that I had my own car, she was suddenly worried about my safety.

"Elise, I hired an instructor. A few laps and I had it down."

She blinked.

In the past, when she went after me like that, I'd have fired right back.

I'd have kept her up half the night just to settle who was right.

But now I answered as calmly as if she'd asked what I'd eaten for lunch.

Her face darkened further.

"Toby Henson, you... seem a little different lately."

A delivery guy cut off whatever I was about to say.

She stepped over quickly to take the order.

"Rudolph skipped lunch. Took me forever to coax him into even drinking a coffee. Kids these days."

She shook her head, helpless, fondness all over her face.

"Not like us back then..."

I finished it for her. "Not like us back then, when we couldn't even bring ourselves to buy a single coffee."

The smile froze on her lips.

This time I didn't stop walking. I went straight to the office.

At four in the afternoon, I was in the middle of the handover with Rudolph.

Elise brought over two coffees.

I frowned.

Eight years, and this was the first time she'd ever set something down on my desk.

I knew it was only because of Rudolph.

He jumped up and threw his arms around her.

Elise hugged him back on instinct, then pushed him off the second she caught my eyes.

"I just didn't want you... you two to run out of time for dinner."

Rudolph took a grinning sip and let out a satisfied sigh. "Thanks, Elise! You're the most thoughtful person ever!"

"With you covering all three of my meals, I'm saving my whole food budget!"

Seeing I hadn't moved, Elise asked, "Why aren't you drinking it? Try something the young people like for once."

I pushed it away.

"No thanks, Ms. Fox. I've been cutting sugar lately. I don't drink sweet stuff."

Her face soured. She checked that no one was around, then dropped her voice.

"This is exactly why I don't like getting you things. There's no emotional payoff at all."

"Have you ever gotten me anything?" I asked.

That stopped her cold. In the end she left with one line, "I bring you a coffee and even that turns into a problem," and walked off.

I'd thought the handover would go fast, so I could file my resignation paperwork early.

But Rudolph was far more difficult than I'd expected.

I sorted all the clients by industry standard and packaged every design draft with its corresponding follow-up.

He said, "Your file formats are a mess. I can't make sense of them."

"And this is all digital only—what happens if it gets lost later? Hand-write the source of every project and the client contact info for me, right now."