Where the Moon Doesn't Shine

The corporate retreat was a hike up Mount Sterling, and my new sneakers had rubbed my ankles raw before we even reached the halfway point.
Limping and falling behind, I texted Liam: Can you slow down? My feet are bleeding.
He replied instantly: Hang in there. We're almost at the top.
I watched his tall, straight back ahead and put my phone away. He never gave me special treatment in public.
Our company had a strict no-dating policy. After five years together, no one knew.
But when I finally reached the summit, I saw Liam kneeling in front of the new intern.
She wore brand-new leather loafers, and he was gently holding her ankle while applying a bandage. “Who wears these for hiking? Does it hurt?”
She wiggled her foot, blushing. “I don’t think I can walk. Mr. Song, could you… carry me down?”
Amid the teasing from our colleagues, Liam—the man who kept a two-foot gap from me in the hallway—let her climb onto his back.
The mountain wind howled, and my ankle burned like fire.
That’s when I realized his “professional distance” was a rule only for me.
On the first workday after the retreat, I left my resignation letter on my desk, next to the box of bandages he’d once left in my drawer.
Then I bought a one-way ticket home.

1
The station announcer called for boarding. I stood in the waiting hall, taking one last, long look at the city I had called home for five years.
Because Liam was still here.
The thought of leaving had first taken root at the end of last year.
During the year-end financial review, the company paid out bonuses based on project performance. There was a major project I had led from start to finish. But in the final stages, I had let the new intern, Tina, assist with some of the wrap-up tasks.
When the final assessments came in, ninety percent of the bonus for that project was allocated to her.
It was my work, the result of over two months of my life.
Mr. Quinn, my department head, looked uncomfortable. "Anna, this was Mr. Song's decision..."
I was the one who had made an exception to bring Tina onto the project in the first place. I wanted to help a younger colleague, give her a chance to shine. I never imagined that my two months of hard work would end up making someone else look good.
"Mr. Song emphasized the importance of rewarding promising new talent like Tina," Mr. Quinn said, his voice trailing off helplessly.
Tina. The intern.
And Mr. Song—Liam Song—was my boyfriend of five years.

2
A bitter wind whipped across the platform. I stood at my designated boarding spot, systematically deleting the photos of us from my phone.
Liam had always insisted that an office romance was a fireable offense, so our five-year relationship had remained a secret. I had to beg him just to keep these few photos, and I was forbidden from ever sharing them on social media. He was so careful about maintaining his distance that everyone in the office thought he hated me. Even when he arbitrarily reassigned my project bonus, our colleagues just saw it as business as usual.
Deleting the photos brought back the memory of that day.
Swallowing my rage, I had called him from the hallway. As expected, he declined the call. For five years, he almost never answered my calls during work hours.
A text immediately followed: Busy.
But this wasn't personal. I marched straight to his top-floor office.
Through the glass partition, I saw him leaning over Tina's desk, explaining a proposal. As she leaned in closer, the fringe of her scarf brushed against his neck.
He was brilliant, no doubt about it. He'd been put in charge of the Kingston branch at such a young age and had earned the admiration of the New York headquarters in just a few years.
There was a time when I had longed for his guidance, too.
But he had always brushed me off impatiently. "Figure out the basics yourself, Anna. I'm busy." When I made a mistake and faced disciplinary action, he never intervened. "You'll only learn if you feel the consequences."
Yet here he was, patiently explaining the fundamentals to Tina, who didn't even know how to create a pivot table.
On his desk sat the lunch I prepared for him every single day. To avoid suspicion, I always had one of the cafeteria staff deliver it for me.
"Mr. Song, I skipped breakfast and I'm starving," Tina whined, pointing at my lunchbox. "Can I have your lunch? I'll treat you to a nice dinner later."
"Go ahead," he said, not even looking up from his emails.
Tina happily opened the container and started praising the beef brisket.
Suddenly, arguing with Liam about the bonus seemed utterly pointless.
As I turned to leave, the entire building plunged into darkness. A massive storm had knocked out the power, and the company sent out an emergency notice for everyone to work from home.
Groping my way down the dark staircase, I saw two figures walking side-by-side in the rain.
Liam was holding an umbrella, carefully shielding Tina as he guided her to his car.
I arrived home looking like a drowned rat. A few minutes later, Liam called.
"Anna," he said, "I figured you had an umbrella. You made it home okay?"
In the background, I could hear Tina asking if he wanted extra ginger in his ginger tea.
"I made the tomato beef brisket today," I said, my grip tightening on the phone. "How was it?"
"Hm? Oh, it was fine," he answered distractedly.
After we hung up, I saw Tina's new social media post: a picture of two mugs clinking together in a warmly lit room. The caption read: It feels so good to be someone's favorite.

3
The train glided into the station. I dragged my suitcase aboard, vaguely hearing someone shout my name from behind. Maybe it was for me, maybe not. I didn't want to turn around.
This journey home from Southbridge had its first stop in Crestwood.
And my story with Liam had begun in Crestwood.
It was my first time managing a bid proposal on my own. The subway had shut down, and the line for a taxi was over four hundred people long. I was about to miss the deadline. In desperation, I called Mr. Quinn, who cursed me out before giving me Liam's number and telling me to ask him for help.
When I called, my voice trembling, Liam listened and then sighed softly. "Don't worry. Stay put, I'm coming."
He sped through the storm, calming my panic while gently reminding me to always plan for delays. We submitted the proposal with seconds to spare. I was drenched in a cold sweat.
He leaned against his car and handed me a steaming cup of coffee.
That night, I made a post on my private story, visible only to him: Met a soft-hearted god in the middle of a storm.
He quietly 'liked' it.
Now, I found myself 'liking' Tina's post. A minute later, it vanished.
Liam called almost immediately, his tone probing. "I'm on my way home."
I kept my voice even, just telling him to drive safe.
He seemed to relax. "You take care, too. Don't catch a cold."
"Liam," I said suddenly, "this year, for the holidays... can we tell my parents about us?"
He had always refused, saying the time wasn't right.
"Let's not," he said, his voice low. "They're already pushing you to get married. Let's not add fuel to the fire."
"Okay," I said with a small, hollow laugh, and hung up.
The fever hit me hard after being soaked in the rain. For the first time ever, I took a taxi to work. As I stared out the window, Liam's car sped past me.
My apartment was actually very close to his. But the direct route, Maple Creek Drive, had always been a traffic nightmare, a guaranteed thirty-minute jam. So I never expected him to give me a ride, and he was happy to maintain the professional distance.
It wasn't until today that I realized the road had been repaired for over six months. The drive now took ten minutes.
For half a year, he had driven past my front door every single day and never once offered me a ride.
And today, he was coming from the direction of Tina's apartment complex.
It wasn't on his way at all. It was a special trip.

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