That night, all I knew was that for the first time since everything fell apart…
We felt wanted again.
And the world still felt normal.
A few days later, I was back in my room.
Not myhome—just the room I paid for. Beige walls. A twin bed shoved against one side. A desk that wobbled if you leaned on it too hard. I shared the apartment with four girls who barely spoke English. All students. Always gone. The rent was cheap, and they stayed out of my way, which had been perfect when I was never here.
But now I was.
The boat was done.
Happy hour was done.
The office felt like a mausoleum.
So I sat on my bed, knees pulled up, laptop balanced on my thighs, and tried to do something productive before I sank completely.
Job hunting.
I had almost a year under my belt. Real experience. Enough to justify wanting something new. Something that didn’t feel haunted. Work hadn’t just been work—it had been my social life, my safety net, my sense of belonging.
And all of that was gone.
I opened Yahoo Jobs. Scrolled. Clicked. Closed it again.
Nothing felt right.
Then I remembered a listing I’d bookmarked the week before. Something admin-adjacent. Better hours. Different office.
I opened my browser history to find it.
And froze.
My stomach dropped so fast it felt physical.
Search after search after search?—
Not jobs.
Real estate listings.
Pittsfield, Vermont.
Cabins.
Farmhouses.
Land parcels.
Then names.
Tony’s full name.
Ethan’s full name.
Tony’s business.
