My boyfriend, Ethan Vance, is a game developer. It took him eight years to go from drowning in debt to becoming an overnight sensation in the tech world. During our hardest years, I worked a grueling sales job during the day to pay our rent, and spent my nights pulling all-nighters to beta-test his code and find bugs. I only asked him for one thing, just once. “Ethan, can we put a little wooden bench in the corner of Lover’s Cove in the game? We could engrave our initials on it, and maybe add some moonlight and butterflies.” He didn’t even look up from his screen. “Grow up, Clara. That’s childish.” I just nodded and never brought it up again. But last night, right before the game’s official global launch, I was doing one final sweep for bugs when I accidentally stumbled into a hidden map. There were no quests there, no monsters. Just a breathtaking, glowing field of shooting stars and wildflowers. The developer’s note in the code read: “A private sleeping sanctuary for my Little Foxy.” The man who had sneered at my request for being “childish” had spent countless sleepless nights coding a literal fairytale for another woman. I closed my laptop and sat in the dark until the sun came up. Then, I wrote my resignation letter. Eight years. In a map that vast, he couldn’t find room for a single wooden bench for me. Fine. I’m out. I’ll find my own moonlight and butterflies.
“What is this supposed to be?” Ethan frowned, staring at the container of bland instant oatmeal on the table. “You know I’ve been pulling all-nighters and my stomach is messed up. Didn’t you think to cook something proper?” I slowly stirred my own bowl with a plastic spoon, staying silent. “Clara, what is wrong with you lately?” “Do you have any idea how hard I’m working to pitch to investors? Is it really that hard to make me a warm, stomach-soothing breakfast in the morning?” I spoke quietly, my voice flat. “I didn’t sleep last night. I didn’t have time to cook.” Ethan waited, expecting me to jump up and fix him something else like I always did. When I didn’t move, his face darkened. “Are you throwing another tantrum?” Before I could reply, his phone buzzed. It was a custom notification sound. The Snapchat contact read: Foxy. “Ethan, I just finished revising the code and now I can’t sleep. My stomach feels so empty, but I only have coffee here…” Ethan’s thumbs flew across his screen. “Don’t drink coffee on an empty stomach. I’ll order you something warm and sweet right now.” His focus was absolute, the same way he looked when he was coding. He didn’t even notice his own spoon slipping into his untouched oatmeal. I sat opposite him, watching him open DoorDash. Hot Oatmilk Caramel Macchiato, half-sweet, warm, extra caramel drizzle. His order notes were more detailed than his product requirements. Yet, in our eight years together, he could never seem to remember that I drink my Americanos iced. Black. No sugar. I didn’t see what she replied next, but a soft smile spread across Ethan’s face. He stood up, grabbed his untouched breakfast, and threw it straight into the trash. He glanced at me. “Stop acting up. I’ll talk to you after the tech expo. You’ve been emotionally unstable lately. I won’t be coming home tonight.” He grabbed his laptop bag and headed for the door. I put down my spoon. “Are you free next Wednesday?” He pushed the door open, not bothering to look back. “The expo rehearsals are crazy right now. Everything will have to wait until I’m done.” The door clicked shut. I looked at the wall clock. It was exactly 7:00 AM. He wasn’t going to the office this early. I knew where he was going. But it didn’t matter anymore. Next Wednesday was our eighth anniversary. Last year, he promised me we’d take a trip to Sausalito to see the coastal flower fields for this anniversary. This morning, if he had mentioned it even once—even if it was just to apologize and say he was too busy, that we’d have to reschedule—I wouldn’t have given up. I slowly finished my breakfast, sat down at my laptop, and hit send on my resignation email. The HR process would take a few days, so I submitted a PTO request for my remaining days. The reason: Personal travel. Finally, I opened United Airlines and booked a one-way ticket to Sausalito for next Wednesday. When it was done, I let out a long, quiet breath. I closed my laptop and began packing. First were the years of handwritten testing notebooks, then my favorite novels. I packed them neatly into a shipping box. In the living room, the sofa we had visited three different stores to find sat bathed in the morning light. On the balcony stood a half-finished Lego set. We had spent six months on it—he built the head, I built the body. But because of his tight launch schedule, the arms were never attached. I left all of it untouched.
My phone buzzed. It was a text from Ethan. “Clara, did you not run the test on last night’s bug patches?” I looked at it, didn’t reply, and kept packing. I didn’t own much. Over the last eight years, to keep our heads above water, I barely bought clothes. Instead, I poured my savings into his startup whenever cash got tight. But that was all in the past now. My phone began vibrating violently. Ethan was calling. The moment I picked up, his irritated voice boomed through the speaker. “Have you lost your mind? You’re dropping everything now?” In the background, I could hear the chaotic clatter of keyboards and someone shouting about a system crash. I didn’t say anything. I zipped up my suitcase. “Are you even listening to me?” “Yes,” I said quietly. Hearing my quiet voice, he assumed I was backing down. His tone turned authoritative again. “Stop whatever you’re doing and get over here to clear these bugs. Chloe is trying to do it, but she’s not as familiar with the system as you are.” Then, Chloe’s soft, sweet voice drifted through the line. “Ethan, don’t be mean to Clara. It’s my fault for being slow. It’s fine, I can just pull an all-nighter to figure it out…” Foxy. The background noise on Ethan’s end quieted. When he spoke again, his voice was noticeably softer. “This is your area of expertise, Clara. If you don’t handle it, who will?” I looked at the spare keys on the entryway table. It felt incredibly absurd. For eight years, I worked a day job to pay our bills and spent my nights debugging his passion project. To him, my sacrifice had simply become my duty. “Ethan,” I said, interrupting him. “I used to do it because I wanted to. Because I loved you.” Before I could finish, his temper flared again. “Clara! The expo is literally tomorrow. Do you seriously have to pick a fight with me now?” Over the line, Chloe chimed in. “Clara, please don’t misunderstand. I really just wanted to help the company…” Ethan cut her off, clearly annoyed. “This has nothing to do with you, Chloe. She’s always like this. Just ignore her for a few days and she’ll get over it.” “If she won’t come, I’ll debug it myself!” He slammed the phone down. I let out a soft laugh. I reached down and slid the simple silver ring off my left ring finger. I’d worn it for five years. I placed it quietly into a small organizer box in the drawer. When the ring left my finger, it left a pale, empty mark. I guess when you wear something for too long, taking it off is bound to hurt a little. Goodbye, Ethan. I’m stepping out of your world. Ethan didn’t come home for days. On the first day, he sent a single text: “Don’t start drama before the expo. It messes with my head.” After that, silence. I saw his post on Instagram later. It was a picture of a conference table covered in coffee cups and empty takeout boxes. His caption: “The final sprint. No one slack off!” Someone commented: “Is the boss living at the office now?” He replied casually: “It beats going home to a nagging girlfriend. So annoying!” To him, I was nothing but a nuisance. I closed Instagram, took my office keycard out of my drawer, and put it in my purse. He had given me this card during the second year of his startup. Back then, I’d rush over right after my day job to help him. He used to tell me that without me, there would be no company. Now, it was time to give it back.
When I reached the office conference room, they were previewing the game’s special Easter egg on the big screen. “Wow, that is beautiful!” someone gasped. I looked through the glass. On the screen, a massive shower of shooting stars was cascading into a mountain of golden wildflowers. The light rolled off the petals like tiny, glowing fireflies. A little fox lay sleeping peacefully inside a cozy treehouse. On the wooden post next to the treehouse, two letters were carved: sc. “You guys don’t get it,” someone teased. “This is Ethan’s private tribute to Chloe.” “I heard Chloe is getting co-creator credit for the art style at the expo.” “Unbelievable. She’s only been here three months and she’s already doing the main panel interview with Ethan.” Laughter echoed through the glass doors. Chloe was sitting right next to Ethan. A delicate silver fox pendant hung around her neck, resting perfectly against her collarbone. She was holding a half-empty cup of taro milk tea. Hearing the teasing, she hid her face behind her cup, but her shoulder leaned conspicuously closer to Ethan. “Stop it, you guys,” she said softly. “I just drew a quick sketch of a fox. I had no idea Ethan would actually build it into the game.” It didn’t sound like a denial. It sounded like a boast. Ethan was looking at the screen. Hearing her, he glanced at her with a relaxed, easy smile. He didn’t explain. He didn’t pull away. In his mind, this wasn’t a big deal. Someone noticed me standing by the door and nudged the person next to them. The laughter in the room quickly died down. Chloe looked up, her fingers tightening around her cup. She pushed the door open and called out in a small voice, “Clara? What are you doing here?” Ethan followed her out, his eyebrows knitting into a tight frown. “Why are you at the office?” He stepped slightly in front of Chloe, almost as if he was shielding her, fearing I might throw her drink at her. I looked past him at the beautiful screen. That flower field had no combat, no grind. Just moonlight, wildflowers, shooting stars. A fairytale made exclusively for someone else. I reached into my bag, pulled out my keycard, and handed it to Ethan. “You can revoke my access now.” Ethan’s frown deepened. “Clara, what is this new stunt?” I didn’t answer. I turned and walked toward the elevator. As the doors began to slide shut, I heard Chloe’s quiet voice. “Ethan… maybe you should go after Clara and apologize?” Ethan let out a cold snort. “Let her go. Once she’s done throwing her tantrum, she’ll walk back on her own.” I looked down, slipped my hands into my pockets, and watched the elevator doors close completely.
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