It was supposed to be just a quick code sprint. Thatās how it always starts, right? "I'll be done by midnight, max," I used to tell her, not knowing it was the last lie Iād get away with. Midnight turned to 2 AM, then 4. By the time I shut my laptop, the first light was coming through the blinds, and her side of the bed was empty.
But that was our normal. I thought she got it, she knew I was building something big, something that would finally change things for us. I was knee deep in solving a critical bug that only I seemed to understand, believing in some twisted way that the endless grind was proof of my dedication to us . Each time I thought about taking a break, I'd picture her smile when all this hard work finally paid off.
But that smile was getting rarer. I'd catch her looking at me across the room, and I'd just wave her off, saying, "Just a bit longer, promise." And every time, sheād nod, but there was this look in her eyes, a mix of disappointment and something I couldnāt quite place.
I was too busy building, too buried in code to ask.
The worst part? I didnāt even see it coming. Sheād been pulling away for months, leaving early in the morning, taking calls outside. I convinced myself she was just giving me space, like she always did. I remember thinking, Wow, she's supportive, when really, she was letting go. When she finally left, she left a note, and all it said was: āI need someone whoās here, not always almost there.ā
The first time I truly felt her absence was in the silence. After the adrenaline of a thousand deadlines, a million late nights chasing bugs and fixes, there was this... nothing. Iād sit there, blank screen in front of me, waiting for the relief that usually came after a build worked. But there was just this sinking feeling that none of it meant anything without her.
Hereās the real kicker: Iād never considered it toxic. I thought it was the price of greatness, of pushing myself to be better. Should I call/text her?