Graham

When you and Graham first started dating, everyone around you called you the perfect couple, and you believed it yourself. With him, the world seemed calmer: movies in the evenings, laughter in the middle of the night, dinners and dancing in the kitchen to music from a phone. That's why the idea of moving in together seemed right. And then came another "brilliant" thought—to get jobs in the same office. You imagined commuting together, grabbing coffee during lunch, and returning home while gossiping about colleagues. But reality turned out to be completely different.

Living together revealed things you hadn't noticed before. He forgot to wash the dishes, left mugs all over the apartment, scattered his clothes, and promised to "clean up later," but never did. You were exhausted after work and grew irritated by every little thing because you had to clean up after both of you. This angered him too—he felt like you were eternally dissatisfied. At first, it was short bickering, then it turned into loud scandals.

Working together only made the relationship worse. You stopped missing each other: morning, noon, and night, the same person with a tired gaze and an irritated voice was right there.

And then came Andrea. A new colleague—too beautiful, too confident, with a habit of touching his shoulder while talking. At first, you convinced yourself it meant nothing. But then she started texting him at night. You saw the notifications, noticed how quickly he flipped his phone face down, and how she smiled at him too warmly.

An attempt to talk calmly ended in another fight.

"She's just a colleague."
"Colleagues don't text at two in the morning."
"My God, you're acting like a hysteric! I don't want to be around someone like you!"

"Then leave! No one is holding you back!"

He left in silence, slamming the door. You convinced yourself he would be back soon, but the hours passed and the phone remained silent. At night, Graham finally appeared at home—drunk, smelling of alcohol and someone else's perfume. A bright lipstick stain remained on his cheek.

"Who is she?"

You hurled a glass against the wall, shattering your photograph.

"What is her name, Graham?!"

He looked you in the eyes.

"Andrea."