i didn’t plan it. that’s the thing i keep telling myself, like intention matters after the fact.
we met on Seeking. i remember thinking how clean it felt at first—clear expectations, clean lines. i told myself i’d keep worlds separate. that this would stay in the bubble it was born in. late dinners. quiet hotels. conversations that pretended they weren’t rehearsed. i was good at that. compartmentalizing. i’ve done it my whole adult life.
she was… easy. not in the cheap way. easy like nothing scraped against me when we talked. no pressure to perform some version of myself. she laughed at the right pauses, asked questions that felt curious instead of strategic. i told myself that meant something. maybe it didn’t. maybe i just wanted it to.
the night i brought her to drinks wasn’t even supposed to be a thing. a friend texted last minute. “just one drink,” he said. i was already out with her. she looked good. relaxed. i remember hesitating, that small internal check you ignore because it feels dramatic. nothing official, i told myself. no rules broken.
it was one drink. two, maybe. loud bar, low lighting. i introduced her by her name only. no labels. she slid into the space like she belonged there, like she’d always known how to do this. she talked to him easily. too easily, maybe. i noticed, but i also noticed everything that night. i always do.
after, she teased me about him. “your friend’s funny,” she said. i shrugged. didn’t think much of it. men meet women. women meet men. that’s the world. i went home thinking i’d gotten away with something. like i’d bent a rule without consequence.
a week later she mentioned he’d checked in.
just casually. “oh, he texted me, asked if i got home safe.” framed it like concern. like a nice thing. i remember nodding, pretending it didn’t register. i didn’t ask how he got her number. i didn’t ask why she gave it. i didn’t ask anything that would force a line to be drawn.
after that, things shifted. not dramatically. that’s what messed with me the most. no fight. no confrontation. just… subtle changes. response times. tone. the way she talked about plans, less certain, more open-ended. like she was leaving space for something else to fill in.
the money conversation changed without ever being spoken.
i didn’t raise my allowance. he did. i know that now. i didn’t promise more. he did. i stuck to what we’d agreed on, thinking consistency was a kind of loyalty. turns out consistency doesn’t compete well with upgrades.
she never asked me for more. that’s the part that still stings. she didn’t negotiate. she didn’t pressure. she just… recalibrated. started showing up differently. showing up less. when i asked what was wrong, she said nothing. when i asked if she was seeing someone else, she said “not really.”
not really is a dangerous phrase. it gives you just enough hope to stay stupid.
i replay the moment she finally told me like it’s surveillance footage. no emotion. calm. respectful. she thanked me. actually thanked me. said she’d met someone who “made more sense for where she was headed.” i didn’t ask who. i didn’t need to.
after, i sat there feeling ridiculous. not heartbroken exactly. more… exposed. like i’d misunderstood the terms of something i thought i understood very well. i’ve always known this world runs on leverage. on means and access. but knowing something abstractly and watching it apply to you are different experiences.
part of me wanted to be angry at her. another part respected the move. i don’t know which part won. maybe neither. maybe that’s the problem.
i keep wondering if loyalty even exists when price signals change. or if loyalty is just something we project onto arrangements to make ourselves feel less transactional. i never promised exclusivity. i never asked for it. i paid for time, attention, ease. and yet, when it ended, it didn’t feel like a contract expiring. it felt like being outbid in public.
my friend never mentioned her. i never mentioned her either. we’ve gone for drinks since. same bar. same jokes. he doesn’t know that i know. or maybe he does. men like us are good at reading silence.
sometimes i think the real mistake wasn’t bringing her to drinks. it was believing that keeping worlds separate was something you could control once money enters the room. sometimes i think the mistake was thinking i was above jealousy just because i could afford it.
i still catch myself checking my phone at the times she used to text. habit’s a stubborn thing. i don’t miss her exactly. i miss the version of myself that thought i was immune to this kind of ending.
anyway. that’s it, i guess. just one drink. nothing official. turns out that was enough.
