Mike, 36, was my colleague — confident, charming, and the kind of man whose presence filled a room without effort. From the very first day I joined the company, I knew I was drawn to him. It wasn’t just his easy smile or the way he ran meetings with quiet authority; it was something deeper, something I couldn’t explain.

At first, he ignored every glance I threw his way. Every casual brush of my hand, every playful comment — all met with polite indifference. I convinced myself it was part of the game, that he was simply resisting something he felt too.

Then, I learned he was married. Three kids. A suburban life that, from the outside, looked picture-perfect. I should have stopped. I should have respected the lines that were so clearly drawn.
But when I heard whispers around the office about tensions at home — about fights he had with his wife — I saw my chance.

One late night, after everyone else had left, I found him alone in the conference room, staring blankly at his laptop. His face looked tired, worn down by something heavier than work stress.
Without thinking, I walked in, closed the door, and offered comfort.
Words turned into touches.
Touches turned into a kiss.
And the kiss led to everything else.

Within months, Mike moved out of his family home. He filed for divorce. I told myself it was love — that we were meant to be and his marriage had already been dying before I arrived. I was just the catalyst, the spark that showed him a different kind of happiness.

We moved into a small apartment together. Life felt thrilling, rebellious, alive. For a while, I lived in a bubble of denial, telling myself that the pain we caused was worth it.
Love justified everything, didn’t it?

One evening, nearly a year after our affair began, my phone buzzed with an unknown number. Thinking little of it, I answered casually.
A calm, sharp voice greeted me.
“Hello. It’s Jenna — Mike’s ex-wife.”

My throat tightened, but I forced a neutral reply.
“Hi…”

There was no anger in her tone, no trembling emotion. Just an unsettling steadiness that immediately unnerved me.

“I’m not calling to fight,” Jenna said. “I just think you should know a few things — woman to woman.”

I said nothing, gripping the edge of the counter.

“You think you have him now. You think you won.” She chuckled lightly, not bitterly, but almost… knowingly.
“But the man you’re living with now — he’s not the man I married. Not even close.”

I opened my mouth to object, but no words came.

“For a while, he made me feel like I was the problem,” she continued. “Like I wasn’t enough. Like if only I were more exciting, more understanding, more everything, he wouldn’t pull away.”
She paused. “But it wasn’t me. It was him.”

The silence on the line grew heavy, oppressive.

“He needs someone new to make him feel alive,” Jenna said, her voice growing almost sympathetic. “Someone to chase. Someone to conquer. But when the newness fades, when real life sets in — bills, responsibilities, quiet nights without drama — he’ll look for the next escape.”

Tears prickled at the corners of my eyes, but I refused to let them fall.
She wasn’t right. She didn’t know us. She didn’t know how different things were between me and Mike.

“I just hope you’re ready,” Jenna finished softly. “Because when he starts looking past you, when he grows restless, you’ll remember this call.”

Before I could form a response, she ended the call.
Just like that.

I stood there for a long time, the phone still pressed to my ear, listening to the empty hum of the line. Around me, the apartment that had once felt like a secret world of passion and excitement suddenly seemed smaller, colder.

That night, I watched Mike when he came home.
The way he kissed my cheek distractedly, barely looking at me.
The way he scrolled through his phone during dinner.
The way he sighed, not with contentment, but with a quiet, familiar frustration.

And in that moment, I wondered if Jenna had seen the same signs years ago — if this was the beginning of an ending I had been too blind to foresee.

I had thought winning meant happiness. That having him by my side was proof enough that we were right for each other.
But maybe winning wasn’t winning at all.
Maybe winning was walking away before you lost yourself trying to hold onto someone who was never meant to stay.