Her response? Eye rolls and defensiveness. "Alex, don't be so insecure. Jake's just a friend now. We have history, but that's it."
History. That word started to grate on me. I'd overhear bits of their calls, her giggling at his stories, venting to him about work stress instead of me.
One night, after a long day, I found her scrolling through old photos on her phone. There was one of her and Jake at a beach, arms around each other, looking carefree. When I asked why she still had those, she snapped: "Memories aren't something you delete just because someone new comes along. God, why are you always so paranoid?"
I wasn't paranoid. I was loyal, committed, and yeah, maybe a little naive. But I loved her, so I tried to trust.
Meanwhile, my own career was taking off. About two years into our relationship, I got an offer from the company's Amsterdam office: a senior developer role with a fat salary bump, relocation package, the works. It was a dream—working on cutting-edge AI projects, living in Europe, exploring new cultures.
But Emily was just starting to stabilize in her job, and she freaked out at the idea of moving. "I can't uproot my life right now, Alex. What about my friends, my family? And Jake's here, too. He's going through stuff, and I want to be around for that."
Wait, what? Jake's stuff mattered more than our future?
I turned it down for her. She hugged me tight that night, whispering how much she appreciated it: "You're my rock, Alex. I don't know what I'd do without you."
Six months later, the offer came again. Same position, even better terms. Emily was in a good place by then, but she hesitated: "Amsterdam sounds amazing, but I don't know if I'm ready for that big a change. And Jake just got dumped. He's a mess. I feel bad leaving everyone behind."
Again, Jake. I declined a second time, telling myself it was for us. My boss was baffled: "This is career suicide, man. Opportunities like this don't come often."
The third offer hit last year. By then, things with Emily were strained. Her friendship with Jake had ramped up—coffee meetups she downplayed as catching up, late-night texts she'd hide when I walked in the room. I'd catch her comparing us subtly: "Jake's starting that adventure travel blog. It's so inspiring. Your job's great, but it's just predictable."
It stung. I was the one paying bills, planning dates, being there through her lows. Yet, I was "predictable."