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He broke up with me at our two-year anniversary dinner. Called me 'comfortable' and 'predictable,' like I'm a worn-out sofa. Then I found out this morning he's been cheating for months.
I wince. That's... spectacularly awful. I've ended my share of relationships, but even I have better timing than that. I sit up straighter.
Comfortable and predictable? That's the best critique he could come up with? Amateur hour. Anyone with half a brain knows those are code for “I'm too insecure to handle a woman with actual depth and complexity.” Are you ok?
Honestly? No. But I'm more angry than sad now.
Good. Channel that anger. Use it. Men like Camden mistake their own mediocrity for your inadequacy. It's their favorite magic trick.
Exactly! I spent two years making myself smaller to fit into his perfect life. No more.
The marketing team is ready for you," Zara says after a quick knock on my office door she pokes her head in. I notice she is eyeing me with barely concealed curiosity. "And Max Dover has called twice about the Maxwell Grant situation."
"Tell Dover I'll call him back this afternoon," I say, standing and straightening my jacket. "And have the final candidate picksI selected to interview for the Lumière Creative Director position sent to my office for further review tonight."
"Already done," Zara replies, efficiency personified as always.
"Perfect." I follow her out, leaving my phone on my desk. Whatever this strange text exchange is, it will have to wait.
Throughout the marketing meeting, I find my thoughts drifting back to the unknown texter. There was something refreshing about her anger, her refusal to be diminished any longer. It's the kind of authentic reaction I rarely encounter in my carefully curated world.
When I finally return to my office three hours later, I have twenty new emails, fourteen meeting requests, and three texts from my sister about our niece's upcoming birthday. But it's the message from the unknown number that I check first:
I should probably stop bothering you with my relationship drama. You're being surprisingly supportive about this whole thing, but I'm sure you have better things to do than counsel a stranger through a breakup.
For some reason, the thought of ending this peculiar exchange leaves me oddly disappointed. Before I can analyze why, I type:
Actually, counseling strangers through breakups is my preferred alternative to reviewing quarterly projections. Besides, I'm invested now. I need to know if you steal Camden's pretentious coffee mug or set his designer socks on fire.
The response is immediate:
Tempting options. But I'm going with taking the high road. Mostly because arson is a felony and his socks probably cost more than a week’s worth of groceries.
I laugh out loud, startling myself with the sound. When was the last time I genuinely laughed during a workday?
The high road is vastly underrated, I reply. Though I maintain that the coffee mug is fair game.
There's a pause before the next message arrives:
Can I ask you something? Why are you still talking to me? Most people would have blocked my number after that first text.
It's a fair question, and one I've been asking myself for the past few hours. Why am I continuing this conversation? What is it about this stranger that has captured my attention?
Because you're the first genuine thing that's happened in my dayI type, then delete it immediately. Too revealing.
Because you seem to have excellent taste in revenge fantasiesI try instead but delete that too.
Finally, I settle on something closer to the truth:
Your text was the most honest communication I've received in months. No agenda, no calculation, just raw truth. It's refreshing.
I hesitate before hitting send. It reveals more than I intended, but something about this anonymous exchange makes me willing to be more forthright than usual.
The response takes longer this time, as if they're also weighing their words carefully:
Well, in that case... Camden only ever wanted the 'presentable' version of me. The one who would look good at firm dinners and never draw undue attention. But there's a whole other side he never saw. Or never wanted to see.
I find myself surprisingly eager to know more about this person, this stranger who accidentally texted me their most unfiltered thoughts.