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"I've Been in Love With Someone Else This Whole Time," She Said — So I Just Said "Okay"

"I've Been in Love With Someone Else This Whole Time," She Said — So I Just Said "Okay"

Chapter 2

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She started spending more time on her phone, glued to a screen. It was always "work stuff," she said—connecting with other creatives, building her network. Her phone was locked down tighter than Fort Knox. I'd walk into the living room and she'd reflexively flip the screen face down on the coffee table. The open conversations we used to have about her work slowly faded; instead, she'd just give me a one-word summary of her day.Then came the comparisons. A new name started popping up in her conversations: Alex. He was a photographer, too; she met him at a gallery event. At first, she spoke about him like a colleague, someone to exchange ideas with.Then the tone shifted."Alex says the kind of work I'm doing is just a side hustle," she said one night, her voice heavy with judgment. "He thinks true artists don't have a 9-to-5. They live and breathe their craft."I remember laughing a little, trying to be lighthearted. "Well, I'm glad someone has a 9-to-5, or we couldn't afford this apartment."She didn't laugh back. She just looked at me with this cool, dismissive expression.The comments became more pointed, more frequent. They were always about Alex."He lives in a converted warehouse loft," she said on another occasion, scrolling through her phone. "His entire life is a work of art, not just his work."She'd talk about his travels, his connections, his passion. The word passion was thrown around so much it lost all meaning. It became an adjective used to describe everything he was and everything I wasn't:Alex was passion; I was a paycheck.Alex was a wanderer; I was a homebody.Alex was an artist; I was a commodity.I was just the guy who paid the bills—the financial safety net, the stable ground she could stand on while she reached for a different kind of life. A better one. One that didn't include me.I remember thinking more than once that I felt like a stepping stone, like I was serving a temporary purpose, and when that purpose was fulfilled, I would be discarded. I pushed the thought away. I told myself I was being paranoid, jealous. She was just talking about her work; she was just talking about someone she admired. But every time she said his name, a little piece of me felt like it was crumbling away.I tried to talk to her about it. I sat her down and said, "Sarah, I feel like you're pulling away. What's going on?"She sighed—a dramatic, put-upon sigh. "Nothing, Mark. You're overthinking it. I'm just busy with work. My creative energy is finally flowing and I need to be focused."
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"I've Been in Love With Someone Else This Whole Time," She Said — So I Just Said "Okay"

9 Part