She looked at me.
"You said seven."
"I know. The meeting ran late."
"You could've texted."
"I did."
She checked her phone.
Apparently she'd missed the message.
Instead of acknowledging that, she said, "You're always working now."
"Because we have a wedding in six months."
"That's not an excuse."
"I'm not saying it is."
"You act like money fixes everything."
The comment surprised me.
"I'm working because we agreed I should take the promotion."
"I know."
"Then what are we arguing about?"
She stood.
"Forget it."
That type of conversation became more frequent.
Small issue.
Sudden anger.
No resolution.
A month earlier, Sarah would have stayed and talked.
Now she disappeared into another room.
Her phone changed too.
Sarah had always used it often.
That wasn't unusual.
But she started turning the screen away.
She started taking it into the bathroom.
She changed the passcode.
The first time I noticed, I joked about it.
"Government secrets?"
"What?"
"New password."
She shrugged.
"Work security."
I accepted it.
Trust mattered to me.
I didn't want to become the guy checking his girlfriend's phone every time she received a message.
When she laughed at texts late at night, I asked who she was talking to.
"People from work."
"Anybody I know?"
"Not really."
Sometimes she said, "Just friends."
I believed her.
That word became important later.
Friends.
Then came the promotion.
Sarah had worked hard for it.
She moved into a new marketing department with better pay and larger clients.
I was genuinely proud.
We celebrated at her favorite restaurant.
I bought champagne.
She took a picture of us holding glasses and posted it online with the caption:
NEW CHAPTERS.
I thought she meant her career.
Maybe she did at the time.
Her new boss was Liam Davis.
I first heard his name about two weeks after the promotion.
"Alex, you wouldn't believe what Liam did with the Henderson campaign."
I was cooking dinner.
"Who's Liam?"
"My boss."
"Oh."
"He's brilliant."
"Good brilliant or terrifying boss brilliant?"
She laughed.
"Actual brilliant."
Over the next month, Liam became a regular character in our apartment despite never physically being there.
Liam said this.
Liam believed that.
Liam had a contact here.
Liam knew somebody there.
Liam had recently returned from Singapore.
Liam had invested in a startup.
Liam knew a restaurant owner in Miami.
Liam had flown first class using points.
Liam was always moving.
Always planning.
Always "building something."
Sarah admired ambition.
I knew that.
I considered myself ambitious too.
But apparently Liam's version looked different.
One night, we were eating dinner when Sarah said, "Liam thinks most people get too comfortable in their twenties."
I looked up.
"Comfortable how?"
"They get a job. Get married. Buy a house. Have kids. Then suddenly they're forty-five and realize they never did anything interesting."
I smiled.
"That sounds suspiciously like the life we're planning."
She didn't smile.
"I'm just saying, there's more out there."
"We've talked about traveling."
"Traveling once a year isn't the same."
"Same as what?"
"Living."
That word bothered me.
"I thought we were living."
Sarah sighed.
"That's not what I mean."
I knew that phrase well.
It's not what I mean.
She used it whenever something landed exactly the way she'd intended but sounded cruel when repeated.
Another night she said, "A lot of guys our age are too safe."
We were watching television.
I looked at her.
"Safe?"
"Yeah."