When My Boyfriend Chose His Coworker Over Me

The team outing was at a rooftop bar in Tribeca. String lights. Craft cocktails. The kind of place where the bartender asked if you wanted your ice hand-chipped.

I stood near the railing with a gin and tonic I wasn't drinking, watching the skyline turn orange. Kade was inside, laughing with the senior partners. Leslie held court near the bar, her ivory blouse catching the light.

Someone's assistant asked me what I did. I said I was between projects. She nodded and drifted away.

I heard Leslie's voice before I saw her. She was talking to Daniel Park and two others from the contracts team, her tone bright and easy.

"The apartment is just perfect," she said. "Right in Chelsea. The company subsidy makes it almost affordable, you know? I can't believe how lucky I got with the timing."

Daniel raised his glass. "That employee housing benefit is killer. I've been on the waitlist for two years."

Leslie laughed. "I know. Kade really went to bat for me with HR. I owe him."

My drink slipped in my hand. I caught it before it fell. The gin sloshed against the rim.

I stood there. The city stretched out below me, all glass and light and noise. My chest felt tight.

Leslie glanced over and met my eyes. She smiled. Raised her glass.

I turned and walked inside.

—

I didn't say anything on the subway ride home. Kade scrolled through his phone, his shoulder pressed against mine in the crowded car. When we got to the apartment, he dropped his keys on the counter and headed for the bedroom.

"Good night," he called over his shoulder.

I stood in the kitchen. The overhead light buzzed. I filled a glass of water and drank it standing at the sink.

"Kade."

He appeared in the doorway, already in his boxers. "Yeah?"

"Leslie said she got the housing benefit."

He rubbed his face. "Yeah. So?"

"You said you were working on it. For us."

"I was." His voice was flat. Tired. "It didn't work out."

"But it worked out for her."

He sighed. The kind of sigh that meant I was being difficult. "The firm allocates those benefits based on need and availability. Leslie qualified. We didn't. That's how it works."

"You told me—"

"I told you I'd look into it." He cut me off, his tone sharper now. "I did. It didn't happen. Drop it, Ivy."

He turned and walked back into the bedroom. I heard the bed creak. The lamp click off.

I stood in the kitchen with the water glass in my hand, staring at the closed door.

—

Two days later, Kade left his briefcase on the kitchen counter before his morning shower. I heard the water running. Steam crept under the bathroom door.

I needed a pen. My grocery list was half-finished on the counter. I unzipped the briefcase and reached inside.

My hand found a folded piece of paper tucked into the side pocket.

I pulled it out. The handwriting was precise. Slanted. Familiar.

*Kade — Thank you again for handling the domestic partnership paperwork with HR. I know it was a bit of a process, but the housing benefit has been a lifesaver. I owe you dinner (at minimum!). — L*

I read it again.

Then again.

The water was still running. The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the rush of the shower.

Domestic partnership paperwork.

I folded the note exactly as I'd found it. I slid it back into the briefcase. I zipped it closed. I set it back on the counter.

Then I walked into the living room and sat on the couch.

My hands were cold. My chest felt hollow.

I sat there until the shower stopped. Until I heard Kade moving around in the bedroom, opening drawers, humming something under his breath.

He came out dressed for work, his tie loose around his neck. He grabbed the briefcase and kissed the top of my head.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"I'll make it," I said.

He smiled. "You're the best."

The door closed behind him. I heard his footsteps in the hallway. The elevator dinged.

I stood and walked into the kitchen. I filled the coffee pot. I watched the water drip, slow and dark, into the carafe.

Then I sat on the kitchen floor.

The tile was cold under me. The overhead light buzzed. I pulled my knees to my chest and wrapped my arms around them.

I tried to think of an explanation. A reason. Something that made this make sense.

Domestic partnership. That was for couples. For people who lived together. For people who were building a life.

Kade filed it with Leslie.

Not me.

Leslie.

I sat there until my legs went numb. Until the coffee pot beeped. Until the sun came through the window and turned the kitchen gold.

Then I stood. I poured myself a cup. I drank it black.

—

That night, I lay beside Kade in the dark. He fell asleep in minutes, his breathing deep and even.

I stared at the ceiling.

I ran through every explanation. Every version of this that wasn't what I knew it was.

Maybe HR made a mistake. Maybe Leslie misunderstood. Maybe Kade was helping her as a colleague and it got miscommunicated.

Maybe.

Maybe.

Maybe.

But I'd read the note. I'd seen her handwriting. I'd heard her voice at the rooftop bar, easy and bright, talking about how lucky she was.

I rolled onto my side. Kade's face was peaceful in the dark. His hand rested on the pillow between us.

I wanted to wake him. I wanted to ask him why. I wanted him to tell me it wasn't true.

But I didn't move.

I lay there until the sky turned gray. Until the alarm went off. Until Kade stretched and kissed my shoulder and asked if there was coffee.

"I'll make it," I said.

He smiled and disappeared into the bathroom.

I sat on the edge of the bed. My mother's embroidery hoop was on the bookshelf. I looked at it for a long time.

Then I stood and went to make the coffee.