My Ex Is Yesterdays News

In the world of broadcast journalism, Zack and I were the undisputed golden couple. He was the brilliant, obsessive executive producer, and I was the face of the network. Together, we were a one-plus-one-equals-three kind of phenomenon.

But Zacks genius came with a sharp edge. He was notoriously demanding, the kind of producer who could reduce seasoned anchors to tears with a single sigh. Hed say it openly in production meetings: "If any of you had a tenth of Leonas drive, we wouldnt be bleeding hours on these edits."

When I was selected for a prestigious three-month media fellowship in New York, he spent the night before my flight holding me tight. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice muffled and unusually soft. "I dread having to work with anyone else," he murmured. "Theyre all so slow. Promise me youll come back the second its over."

I laughed, running my fingers through his hair, but I couldn't help but worry. "The girl stepping in for me is my own protge," I reminded him. "Olivia works incredibly hard. She just needs a break. Don't go tearing her to pieces on day one."

Three months later, I walked back into the Chicago studio, dragging my suitcase straight from the airport. I stopped at the heavy double doors of Studio B. Zack was standing on the stage, leaning in close to Olivia. He was adjusting the lapel mic on her collar, his hands lingering just a second too long. Then, he patted her head and smileda warm, bright expression I hadnt seen on his face in months.

"You've got this," he said, his voice carrying over the quiet stage. "Don't be nervous. Frankly, youre bringing something to this that Leona never did. This show belongs to you now."

My hand slipped, and my heavy duffel bag hit the floor with a dull thud.

The noisy control room suddenly went dead silent.

Olivias face turned pale, her smile freezing. "Leona... you're back."

She flusteredly began unclipping her mic, stepping down from the stage. "II can hand this broadcast back to you."

But before she could take two steps, Zack grabbed her wrist. He didn't even look at me. He just stared at Olivia, his voice firm. "No. Stay. We're keeping you on tonight."

The tension in the studio became palpable. The crew stood frozen, trading uneasy glances. Olivia looked at me with wide, panicked eyes, pleading for help, but her feet stayed glued to the floor.

I looked at the shifting gazes of the staff, forced a polite smile, and said, "It's fine. Keep going with the scheduled run-of-show."

The recording began. I sat in the very back row of the dark studio audience seats, watching Olivia shine under the studio lights.

She used to sit at my desk, practically trembling, asking me, "Leona, do you really think I can do this? What if I freeze up?" I always told her that one day, shed own the camera. Now, she was doing exactly that, but I felt no pride.

Because Zack was standing by the monitor, a soft smile playing on his lips. The way he looked at Oliviathe sheer warmth, the absolute focuswas a look I knew all too well. It was the look that, for five years, had belonged only to me.

It was past midnight by the time the taping wrapped. The crew was buzzing, talking about heading out for late-night drinks. Zack finally pulled off his headphones and looked in my direction, giving me a brief, casual nod. "You're back. Why didn't you let me know?"

I lowered my eyes. "I texted you."

He blinked, momentarily confused, and reached into his pocket for his phone. But Olivia appeared from behind him, handing it over with a playful grin. "Producer's rule, remember? Phones go on silent the moment you step into the studio. You forgot, so I did it for you."

Sensing the sudden chill between Zack and me, she faltered, her smile slipping. "Did... did I do something wrong?"

Zack recovered first. He took the phone and let out a soft laugh. "Bold of you, using my own rules against me." He tapped her lightly on the head. "Go on, didn't you guys want sushi? Take the team and order whatever you want. It's on my card."

Once she was out of earshot, Zack turned back to me, taking my suitcase. "I'm sorry, Leona. Today's broadcast was a massive ratings hook. I couldn't slip away to pick you up at the airport."

At the high-end sushi restaurant, the crew was loud, thanking Zack before diving into the menus. Olivia laughed, rubbing her stomach. "I am absolutely starving. I could eat an entire cow right now." Zack poured himself a cup of green tea, deadpan: "Waitress, bring this lady an entire cow." The table erupted in laughter as Olivia blushed.

My stomach twisted.

After a long silence, Olivia looked up at me cautiously. "Leona, you're so quiet. What are you having?"

I forced a thin smile. "Nothing for me, thank you. I've been recovering from a bad bout of gastritis. My stomach can't handle raw food right now."

Zack frowned, a flicker of irritation passing through his eyes.

I looked down, a bitter ache spreading through my chest. Sometime during my three months away, his texts had grown sparse, his replies taking hours, then days.

When the gastritis had hit me in New York, leaving me curled up alone in an ER chair under the fluorescent lights, hooked to an IV drip, I had sent him a text: "It hurts so bad. I wish I was home."

He still hadn't replied to that message.

I had convinced myself he was just in his typical workaholic zone, blind to the world. But clearly, he wasn't too busy to remember who wanted sushi.

The dinner felt like chewing on cardboard. I rode home in the passenger seat of Zack's car, surrounded by a suffocating silence. When we unlocked the door to our apartmenta place I hadn't stepped into for ninety daysthe living room was pitch black.

Zack's voice cut through the dark behind me. "Leona. We need to talk."

Zack sat on the leather sofa, lighting a cigarette and letting it burn halfway down in silence.

"In the three months Olivia covered for you, the ratings for "The Point" jumped by twenty percent. We picked up two major national sponsors. I'm going to keep her on as the permanent anchor."

My heart skipped a beat, then began to thud violently against my ribs. "What does that mean?"

The moonlight cut through the window, illuminating only half of his face, leaving the rest in shadow.

"I'm giving her "The Point". I'll put together a pitch for a brand-new show for you."

His tone was final. With those words, he pulled the rug out from under my life.

"The Point" was our baby. Five years ago, when we were just two hungry kids trying to make a mark, we had pitched it together, signing a virtual blood oath with the network executives. The show, with its razor-sharp journalism and uncompromising truth, had taken off. It gave Zack his power, and it gave me my reputation. It was the foundation of our careers, and the backdrop of our entire five-year relationship.

I let out a hollow laugh. "Do you have any idea what I poured into that show? Do you even care what it means to me?"

Zack pinched the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted. "Leona, we have to look at the bigger picture. We have to move forward."

I stared at the face of the man I loved, searching for something familiar. "Moving forward? Is that about the show, or is it about her?"

Though I hadn't used her name, Zacks expression instantly hardened. "Olivia works hard. She just needed a platform. Leona, you have the status, the awards, the financial security. You have everything. What hurts you to give her a little room to breathe?"

I couldn't help but laugh out loud, the sound sharp and ugly. "How incredibly familiar."

Three months ago, I was the one begging him to be patient with Olivia, telling him to go easy on her. Three months later, he was throwing my own kindness back in my face to justify taking my life's work.

I cared about Olivia. I wanted her to succeed. But "giving her a chance" did not mean letting her steal the ground from under my feet.

"I'm not stepping aside," I said, my voice cold and steady. "If you think shes so brilliant, produce a new show for her."

Zack looked at me, his eyes dark and unreadable. "Leona, I am the executive producer of "The Point". I have the final say on who anchors the desk." He stood up abruptly. "You just got back. Get some rest. I'll sleep in the study."

I pressed a hand to my aching stomach, wiping a cold bead of sweator a tearfrom my temple.

Late that night, lying in our king-sized bed that felt as vast and freezing as an ice sheet, my phone buzzed. It was an Instagram notification from Olivia.

A photo of her smiling in the studio. Caption: "Grateful for the climb. Never look back. Let's do this!"

And there, right at the top of the likes, was Zack's name. He had liked it seconds after she posted.

I stared up at the dark ceiling. It turned out my desperate rush to finish my fellowship, to catch the earliest flight home, was just a return to a life where I was no longer wanted.

The next morning, I walked into the dressing room. Olivia was in the makeup chair, and she froze when she saw me in the mirror. The assistants in the room quickly found excuses to slip out, leaving us alone.

Olivia hesitated, then stood up and gave me a deep, stiff bow. "Leona. Ive looked up to you since college. Youve been my mentor, my idol. Youve helped me so much, and honestly, I would do anything for you. But Im not giving up "The Point"."

"You were the one who taught me to seize every opportunity," she added, her chin lifting slightly.

I smiled, though it didn't reach my eyes. "I told you to seize opportunities, Olivia. I didn't tell you to build your career on theft."

"During my fellowship, the network executives talked about launching a new weekend segment. I put your name forward to anchor it."

Olivias face shifted, the sweet, deferential act melting away in an instant. She let out a sharp, cynical breath. "Oh, how noble of you. Ive trailed behind you for years, Leona. When did you ever actually give me a real shot? Even when your stomach was tearing you apart and you were practically fainting on set, you wouldn't let me fill in. If the network hadn't forced you to go to New York, you would have kept me in your shadow forever."

She sneered. "In this business, Leona, its survival of the fittest."

I looked at her, seeing the ugly distortion on her face, and felt a strange sense of clarity. "Fine. Let's see what youre actually made of."

Before the evening taping, I walked onto the studio floor dressed in my anchor wardrobe. Zack's brow furrowed immediately. "Leona, we talked about this last night"

"Zack," I cut him off, keeping my voice professional. "We work in television. The audience is the only boss that matters. If you want to decide who gets "The Point", let the ratings do the talking."

The studio fell dead silent. Olivia, standing nearby, smiled sweetly. "I think that's incredibly fair. It would be an honor to compete with you, Leona."

Zacks frown deepened. He opened his mouth to object, but Olivia stepped in, playfully tugging his arm. "Come on, boss. Don't tell me you don't think I can win?"

Watching their easy, familiar intimacy in front of the entire crew felt like a physical blow. My eyes stung, but I kept my posture perfect.

Zack finally sighed. "Fine. Tonight..."

I interrupted with a cool smile. "My segments aren't fully prepped yet. Tonight's broadcast belongs to Olivia." I took a deliberate step back, leaving the stage entirely to them.

I sat in the darkness of the back row, watching the monitor. As her mentor, I knew Olivias technical skills were impeccable. But tonight, on camera, her tone was different. It was sweet, dripping with sentimentality, and midway through the lead story, she let tears well up in her eyes.

She wiped a tear away, her voice trembling but dramatic. "I'm sorry, everyone. But looking at the footage of this woman... a simple housekeeper trying to make an honest living, humiliated and abused by her wealthy employers... it breaks my heart. Because she's vulnerable, does she deserve to be treated like trash?"

Her story was about a domestic worker allegedly abused by a wealthy family.

I shook my head in the dark. Journalism is supposed to be objective. An anchor weaponizing their own tears to manipulate the audience is a betrayal of the craft. Under my tenure, "The Point" had always been clinical, calm, and devastatingly precise. We didn't sell cheap tears; we delivered cold, hard facts.

When the lights went down, Olivia came off the stage, flushed with excitement, clearly looking for approval. I stood up and intercepted her.

"I taught you better than this," I said, my voice low but firm. "When a story is this polarized, you do not take sides on air. You are an anchor, not an activist. You took a complex situation and turned it into a witch hunt."

Olivias face flushed red, then went white. She ripped off her earpiece and slammed it onto the desk. "I am sick of your lecturing! You just got lucky, Leona. You got Zack, you got a hit show, and now you think you're God. Who are you to judge me?"

She snapped her fingers at a production assistant. "Do we have the overnight ratings?"

The assistant stepped forward, swallowing hard, stammering. "Yeah... they just came in. We... we beat Leona's historic peak. By three points."

Olivia threw me a triumphant, venomous look. I didn't say a word to her. I turned my eyes to Zack. "You're okay with this?"

Zack avoided my gaze for a second, then looked up. "Leona, the numbers don't lie."

I nodded slowly. "Understood." I turned and walked out.

A week later, our scheduled broadcasts fell on the same day.

When I walked into the makeup room, I saw the artist applying fake bruises and cuts to a mans face. I stopped. "What is this?"

A production coordinator mumbled, "Olivia's segment. It's the expos on the construction worker beaten up by the trust-fund kid. The actual victim is too shy to speak on camera, so they brought in his brother to do the interview. The makeup is just to make it look... more authentic."

Cold dread settled in my chest. "Faking physical evidence? Are you out of your minds?"

Olivia strolled into the room, leaning against the doorframe with a smug look. "Leona, this is my segment. I don't recall asking for your input."

"This is a news broadcast, Olivia," I said, my voice rising. "We have kept this show clean for five years. Fabricating a victim's injuries is career suicide. Do you have any idea what this will do to the network if it gets out?"

She matched my gaze, entirely unbothered. "The facts are the facts. We're just using a visual aid to help the audience understand. What's the big deal?"

The shouting drew Zack into the room. His first instinct was to step in front of Olivia, shielding her.

I looked past her, straight into his eyes. "Did you know about this? Faking a news package?"

Zack remained silent.

"What happened to the ethics we built this department on?" I asked, the words cutting through the chaotic room. "Do you even remember why we started this show?"

We had been in a cold war since the night I returned, sharing a bed of silence, avoiding each other in the halls. I had planned to wait for the ratings war to settle before forcing a conversation about our marriage. But standing here, watching him protect a fraud, the fight evaporated from me.

We had met in college. We were the top two students in the journalism department, rivals who fell in love over late-night editing sessions. He used to hold my hands, his eyes bright with a fire that consumed us both. "We're soulmates, Leona. You're my partner in everything. My dream only exists because of you."

Zack finally spoke, his voice quiet, flat. "Leona, this is the real world. Integrity doesn't pay the electric bill. The market dictates what we do."

I stared at him. The passionate, idealistic boy I had loved was entirely gone, replaced by a cynical corporate empty suit.

The silence stretched between us until Zack sighed, reaching out to touch my hand.

I took a step back, out of his reach.

"I won't be a part of a network that fakes the news," I said quietly.

"You want "The Point"? It's yours."

I didn't look at Zack's suddenly pale face as I walked out the door.

I submitted my resignation that afternoon. Zack called my phone repeatedly, but I ignored every ring. I left a signed copy of the divorce papers on the kitchen island and moved my things into a short-term rental.

From that day on, Olivia became the undisputed face of "The Point". Zack launched a second, lighter entertainment show for her, and her star rose exponentially. She was guest-starring on talk shows, signing brand endorsements, and becoming a household name.

On "The Point", there were still viewer comments calling out the shift in tonenoting that the show had lost its objective, analytical edge. But those voices were quickly drowned out by a highly coordinated PR campaign.

One night, around 2:00 AM, my phone lit up with a text from Olivia. It was a photo of Zack, flushed and half-asleep from too many drinks, resting his head heavily on her shoulder.

"Leona, did you ever think things would turn out like this?"

I didn't reply. I was too busy drafting a pilot script.

After leaving the network, I accepted an offer from their main competitora rival station that had tried to recruit me for years. They offered me absolute creative control.

A new team, a new format, a blank slate.

I worked eighteen-hour days, barely keeping my head above water. Sometimes, during the quiet hours of the night, I would look out at the city skyline and let my mind drift back to college, to the early days at the studio, to the husband who used to hold me in the dark. But the nostalgia only lasted a minute before I pulled myself back to the page.

We decided on a live format. It was high-wire journalism, leaving no room for errors or second takes.

Right before our debut broadcast, the energy in the studio was electric. Some of the crew members whispered anxiously, "Our time slot is directly against "The Point". We're going head-to-head with Zack."

I just smiled. "Zack? Let him come."

The director gave me the thirty-second cue. The makeup artist touched up my lipstick, and the technical director flashed a thumbs-up from the booth. I looked at the exhausted, hopeful faces of my new crew, pumped my fist in solidarity, and sat in the anchor chair.

I took a deep breath as the red light flared on Camera One.

"Good evening. Welcome to "The Lens". I'm Leona."