Thirty Two Secrets Seven Thousand Goodbyes

After she drifted off to sleep, her phone buzzed with a notification from the cloud:

[32 photos in Recently Deleted will be permanently removed soon.]

Driven by a dark, inexplicable impulse, I tapped it.

The first was a photo of a strangera boy, face pressed against a desk, sleeping soundly.

The second was a group shot from a department dinner. He was smiling brightly at the camera. She was standing right next to him, her gaze lingering on his profile, her expression softer than Id seen in years.

The third was at a late-night bodega. Both their hands were in the frame, sharing a container of hot soup.

The fourth: two movie stubs tucked side-by-side.

The fifth, the sixth Thirty-two photos in total. A curated gallery of a boy shed been hiding for a long time.

The deletion dates coincided perfectly with every time wed video chatted, every time Id told her, I miss you, like a pathetic child.

I restored every single one of them and emailed them to myself.

Then, I opened my own camera roll. I selected every memory of usevery anniversary, every grainy selfie from the last seven yearsand hit Permanently Delete.

Thirty-two photos were her secret.

Seven thousand, eight hundred and forty-seven photos were the weight of a ghost I was finally letting go of.

Cassidy and I had been together since our freshman year of college. Seven years of long-distance. Everyone back home in our small town asked the same thing:

When is enough, enough?

So, I did it. I quietly resigned from my secure, pension-track civil service job, booked a flight, and flew across the country to Chicago. I wanted to surprise her for her birthday. I wanted to tell her I was finally moving here for good.

Instead, in the glow of her phone at 2:00 AM, I found the heartbeats she couldnt quite bring herself to erase.

I knew I shouldn't keep digging. But I opened her messages anyway.

Her "pinned" contact had changed.

It wasn't me anymore.

I tapped the profile of a guy named "Jordan."

I scrolled up.

There wasn't any explicit sexting. On the surface, it looked almost innocent.

But it was the mundanity that killed me.

[Check out this food truck, looks insane!] (Link)

[My boss is being a total dick today. Im fuming.] (Meme)

[Watch this, Im literally crying.] (TikTok link)

[Which color hoodie looks better on me?] (Image) (Image)

[Drive safe.]

[Did you make it home?]

[Yeah. Go to sleep. Night. Ill bring you breakfast tomorrow.]

One day. Two days. A week. A month.

Three hundred and sixty-five days. Not a single gap in the timeline.

I checked his Instagram. Every posta selfie, a shot of his dog, a complaint about overtimehad a heart from her.

I realized then I couldn't remember the last time shed even seen one of my stories. Id convinced myself she was just "buried in work."

I opened her DoorDash history.

The "Frequent Addresses" included her apartment, my place back home, and a third, unfamiliar location.

Her order history was a diary of devotion: Hangover cures sent at 10:00 AM. Stomach meds.

Wontons with the specific note: No cilantro, extra green onions.

Late-night fever reducers and a thermometer.

A birthday cake and flowers with a digital note: To the best, Jordan.

My fingers tightened around her phone, my face slick with tears I didn't remember shedding.

She remembered his hangover kit.

She remembered his allergies.

She remembered the cake and the card.

I spent seven years teaching her those things. I taught her how to make a man feel loved, how to show someone they were the center of her world.

She had learned the lesson perfectly.

I set the phone back down, moving like a ghost.

She was still asleep.

Her breathing was steady, her brow relaxed. She looked peaceful.

I stared at her for a long time.

Seven years ago, in a cramped high school hallway, shed slipped a note into my locker: I like you. Want to try being an us?

Seven years later, every ounce of joy I had died in the silence of the truth shed hidden.

I didn't wake her. I got up, grabbed a beer from the fridge, and walked out onto the balcony of the 18th-floor apartment.

The cold liquid burned my throat, and the Chicago wind slapped my face, forcing me awake.

Looking down at the scattered lights of a city that didn't know me, it hit me:

I had just thrown away my career.

I had bet my entire future on a woman who was already gone.

After a while, I heard footsteps behind me.

Arms wrapped around my waist, carrying the warmth of the duvet.

Why are you up?

Her voice was thick with sleep, her chin resting on my shoulder like a contented cat.

I didn't move.

I thought I was dreaming, she murmured. I wish I could wake up to you every single day.

I turned and pulled her into my arms.

Images flashed in my mind, uncontrollable.

Her borrowing my notes in high school and scrawling I love you in the margins.

Her saving every cent to take a miserable ten-hour bus ride to see me at my uni, peeling bags of roasted chestnuts for me because she knew they were my favorite.

Shed told me that once she climbed the corporate ladder in the city, shed come back and marry me. Her eyes had been so bright; she wasn't just selling me a dream, she believed it.

The gifts that arrived exactly on time for every anniversary.

The way she was always the first to apologize after a fight.

Seven years.

Wed survived the distance, the temptations, the growth spurts of our twenties. Or so I thought.

My eyes burned. Maybe it was the wind. Maybe I was just weak.

I told myself: Maybe shes just lonely. Shes alone in this massive city, working late, with no one to talk to. Maybe hes just a work friend. Maybe Im overreacting.

She didn't wait for an answer. She pulled me back to the bedroom, tucked me into the sheets, and held me. Her breathing soon leveled out again.

I stared at the ceiling until the dark turned to gray, then to white.

When the sun finally hit the glass, I made a choice.

Id give her one chance.

Id wait until after her birthday, and then wed have the talk.

The next morning, Cassidy had to go into the office. She offered to drop me at a mall to kill time.

When I got in the car, I reflexively tried to connect my phone to the Bluetooth.

The device list popped up on the dashboard.

There was a name I recognized, yet didn't: [Jordans iPhone].

I stared at it, the air leaving my lungs.

She was backing out of the spot. She caught the screen out of the corner of her eye and went still for two beats.

Without a word, she reached over, took my phone, and manually synced it for me.

When she handed it back, she squeezed my hand, the way she always did.

I forced a smile and tucked the phone away.

Outside, the morning rush was a slow crawl of steel and red lights.

In the glove box, I saw a shaving kit. A brand I didn't use.

And Cassidy would never buy a mens razor for herself.

I couldn't stop the thoughts.

On the mornings I wasn't here, was she picking him up at this exact time?

Was he sitting in my seat, playing his music?

Did she look at him during red lights the way she used to look at me?

Did she laugh? Did she ruffle his hair with that indulgent look in her eyes?

The car pulled up to the mall entrance.

As I moved to get out, Cassidy grabbed my hand.

She looked hesitant. Hey, the team is really pushing to take me out for my birthday tonight. Its also a celebration for the project launch... its kind of a big deal. I promise Ill be back by midnight so we can blow out the candles together. Just us.

I looked at her.

There was a flicker of guilt in her eyes, a plea for permission.

Cant I come?

She blinked, surprised.

Am I that much of an embarrassment? I asked.

She stammered, What? No, of course not. Its just... its going to be all work talk. I don't want you to feel out of place.

She squeezed my hand again.

Ill come get you tonight. Ill show them all what an amazing boyfriend I have.

I nodded and got out.

I stood on the sidewalk and watched her car merge into the sea of traffic until it disappeared.

That evening, I saw him the moment I walked into the private room at the bistro.

Jordan.

He wasn't as handsome as his photos, but he had a clean, effortless charm.

When he saw Cassidy walk in holding my hand, his smile faltered for a split second.

A colleague started chanting, Okay, Cassidy! You told us you had a boyfriend, but we all thought he was a fake boyfriend to keep the interns away. We didn't realize he was actually a model!

Cassidy leaned into me, smiling naturally.

I just didn't want you guys getting jealous. Weve been together for seven years. Long-distance. Hes been working back home in the public sector.

There were whistles and claps.

I watched Jordan out of the corner of my eye. He picked up his glass and took a long, heavy swallow.

Seven years?

He finally spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but the table went quiet.

You guys must be really solid.

He looked at me with an innocent, curious expression.

So why wouldn't you move here for her? Are you... just keeping her as a backup plan?

The air froze for a couple of seconds.

A coworker laughed awkwardly, trying to break the tension. Jordans had a few too many. Hes just joking.

I didn't get angry. I didn't mention that Id already quit my job to be with her.

I think its important to take care of yourself first, I said, offering a tight smile. I put my own career first. I don't think theres anything wrong with that.

He opened his mouth but couldn't find a comeback.

Cassidys grip on my hand tightened, her face stiffening.

It was a mutual decision, she said. I wanted to build my career first. Once Im settled, Im going home to marry him.

Jordan went pale. He looked down and reached for the bottle again.

Later, I slipped away to the restroom.

On my way back, I heard voices around the corner.

...whats the deal with Cassidys boyfriend? He just appears out of thin air?

No idea. I totally thought she and Jordan were a thing. Theyre always togetherdinners, late nights at the office. Shes so protective of him.

Me too. I thought they were just keeping it low-key because of HR.

Now that the real guy is here, look at Jordans face. Yikes.

I mean, theyre inseparable, and suddenly this fianc type shows up. Who wouldn't be gutted?

There was a pause, then a sigh.

Honestly? I think Jordan is a better fit. Theyre both in the city, both grinding. What does the small-town guy bring to the table besides seven years of history?

Isn't seven years enough?

Since when is history enough to pay the bills? You think Cassidy is actually going to give up her VP track to move back to the middle of nowhere?

I stood there, my nails digging into my palms.

Back in the room, I sat down and just... watched.

Cassidy was talking to the person next to her about project deadlines, but every few minutes, her eyes would drift.

To Jordan.

He was slumped over his drink, his face flushed, looking like a kicked puppy.

Every time she looked at him, her brow furrowed with a tiny, pained crease.

The atmosphere was thick with a tension I was done with.

Im tired, I said. Im heading back.

Cassidy immediately stood up. Ill take you.

Before she could grab her coat, Jordan looked up and let out a sharp, bitter laugh.

Come on, Cassidy. Seriously?

His voice was airy, somewhere between drunk and mocking.

Hes a grown man. Is he going to get lost on the way to the Uber?

The table went silent. People looked at their phones or suddenly found their salads very interesting.

Cassidys frown deepened.

I stood up and grabbed my bag. Don't worry about it. Stay with your friends. Ill find my own way.

I didn't look at anyone as I walked out.

Cassidy didn't follow me.

Back at her apartment, I sat on the sofa.

I opened a burner account on a forum and typed:

If your girlfriend is amazing to another guy but still loves you, what do you call that?

Someone replied instantly:

You call it having her cake and eating it too. Wake up, man.

I stared at that for a long time.

Then I went to her desk and opened her laptop.

Cassidy was meticulous. She backed up everythingtexts, photos, documentsinto organized folders. I used to admire her for being so transparent, so grounded.

Now I realized it just made her better at hiding things in plain sight.

I exported her chat history with Jordan to my email.

Just as I was about to shut it down, I saw a browser tab shed forgotten to close.

It was a secondary Instagram account.

The handle was: Jordans_Girl_C.

I scrolled through the posts.

He had posted a photo of a concert stage, with Cassidys profile barely visible in the dark.

Caption: [Best concert ever. Thanks for being there for me, C.]

That was my birthday. Shed sent me an expensive diamond watch that morning. Shed told me she was "stuck in a marathon meeting" and couldn't call. Id waited until 2:00 AM for a phone call that never came.

The next day, shed texted: Sorry baby, I crashed as soon as I got home. I was exhausted.

Another post: Him in an ER waiting room, her hand holding his during an IV drip.

[Being sick doesn't feel so bad when youre not alone.]

That day, Id had a 103-degree fever. I was shivering under three blankets, crying as I swallowed Tylenol. Id texted her.

Shed replied: So sorry, honey. Im slammed. Get some sleep, youll feel better in the morning.

There were photos of cakes, candles, silhouettes of two people.

[Happy Birthday! I made a wish that were doing this again next year.]

That was the day Id gotten my promotion and wanted to celebrate.

Shed said, In a meeting, lets talk later.

The next day, shed forgotten to ask.

Every single photo corresponded to a moment I was being pushed aside.

Every record was a night I spent waiting for a text that was being sent to him instead.

She was giving the best parts of our lifethe parts that belonged to meto a boy who didn't even know I existed.

Finally, I found a chat with her best friend, Piper.

Piper: When I visited, it was so obvious how Jordan feels about you. You can't tell me you don't feel it too.

Cassidy: So what? I have Silas.

Piper: Do you love him? Or is it just a habit?

Cassidy: Ive been with him for seven years. I can't just do that to him.

Not once did she say "I love him."

Not once did she deny the feelings for Jordan.

Those few sentences turned my seven years of devotion into a punchline.

I had just closed the laptop when the front door opened.

Still up?

Cassidy walked over and leaned down to hug me. She smelled like gin and expensive perfume.

Baby, they made me drink too much. I feel like crap.

I gave her a small, empty smile.

Go to sleep, then.

She mumbled an okay and went to the bathroom.

Shed forgotten about the birthday candles.

At 11:40 PM, her phone rang.

The silence of the room was thin enough that I could hear Jordans trembling voice through the speaker:

The power went out in my building. Its pitch black and I... I can't be alone right now. Can you come over? Please?

Cassidy looked at me, then back at the phone. She stayed silent for a few seconds.

Jordan, its late. Just go to bed. Call the building manager in the morning.

There was a pause, then a sharp, petulant:

Whatever. Forget I asked!

He hung up.

She hugged me again.

Work friend lives nearby. Hes a bit dramatic when he drinks, she explained.

I said, Its fine. You should go.

She froze, looking up at me.

Maybe I looked too calm. Too vacant.

She reached out to stroke my hair, her eyes suddenly darting with panic.

What are you talking about? I wouldn't leave you. Im staying right here with my guy.

I smiled, got up, and went to take a shower.

Under the spray, I stood in front of the mirror, watching my tears disappear into the drain.

When I came out, she was passed out on the bed.

I picked up her phone.

Thirty minutes ago, shed texted another coworker: [Jordans been drinking and his power is out. Can you check on him? Thanks, I owe you one.]

Then I saw the last message from Jordan in their thread:

[You don't love him anymore. Stop lying to yourself.]

Cassidy hadn't replied.

I set the phone down.

Moonlight spilled across her face. I looked at herthe face Id known for a decade. I could trace every line of her in my sleep.

But she felt like a stranger.

I walked into the kitchen.

I took the birthday cake Id spent all afternoon making from scratch.

I dropped it in the trash.

My suitcase was still by the door. I packed my chargers, my toiletries, the hoodie Id left on the chair.

I booked the first flight out in the morning.

I booked a hotel by OHare.

Then, I posted a single line on my private Instagram story:

We never did make it to the ocean after all.

I grabbed my bag and walked out.

At the door, I looked back one last time.

On the entryway table sat a framed photo of us at the beach last summer. She was on my back, laughing, the sun caught in her hair.

She looked so happy.

On Cassidys twenty-fifth birthday, we didn't blow out the candles.