Packing Boxes in His Head

Roy tried to focus on work. He really did. The problem was that every time his eyes drifted back to his phone, the same message was waiting for him.

ELAINE: so??? how did the date with Claire-Bear go??

It sat there in his notifications like an accusation. Cheerful. Curious. Completely unaware of the emotional landmine it represented.

He hadn't replied. Not because he didn't care. Because he cared too much, and he had no idea what the truth even was anymore.

His wish had activated. He was sure of it. He had felt it in his bones, in that strange, electrical moment on the road when the bus had pulled alongside him and the world had tilted just enough to make his heart slam into his ribs.

So what did that mean? Was Claire still his girlfriend? Or was she free of him now? Sitting in at his desk, feeling like the office walls were closing in on him, he had to admit how much he wanted both of those things to be true.

He unlocked his phone again, this time scrolling past Elaine's message and down into his thread with Claire. The history was still there. The picture she had sent him the day before, taken in laying on her bed in only her underwear, playful and intimate and unmistakably meant for him.

It was all still there.

Nothing had disappeared. Nothing had changed on the surface. And yet he was sure that something had.

Roy set the phone face-down on his desk, as if that might make the questions quieter.

This could have been a dream come true. That was the absurd part. A version of his teenage self would have lost his mind over this. Beautiful women. Attention. Desire. Affection. Women throwing themselves at him without hesitation.

But he wasn't that teenager anymore.

He had a moral sketch of himself in his head. Not a perfect man. Not a saint. But a man who valued loyalty. A man who believed relationships meant something. A man who didn't just drift from woman to woman because he could. He had long moved past the bitterness of rejection, the loneliness of watching friends pair off into happy couples while he wallowed in solitude. Roy had become a man who could celebrate the happiness of others, not greedily want what they had for himself.

That man did not line up neatly with the reality of his life now.

The office was buzzing in its usual low-level way. Phones ringing. Keyboards clacking. Voices drifting over cubicle walls. People stopping by his office with quick questions or updates. Outside of the existential distress Roy felt, it was a normal day at work. The team was supportive, working together toward common goals, kindness and encouragement part of the culture.

Well... for everyone but Tom.

Tom passed his door more than once, each time with that same look. The sideways glance. The knowing half-smile. The stink-eye mixed with something that felt uncomfortably like satisfaction.

Roy had never really hated anyone before. But he was starting to hate Tom. Not in a dramatic way. Not in a shouting, door-slamming way. In a quiet, corrosive way. The kind that settled into his chest and stayed there.

Roy loved his job. He loved this place. He loved his people.

He thought about Angie, the redheaded intern, all ambition and nerves, trying to launch her career and soaking up every scrap of advice he gave her. He thought about Joe, roughly his age, good dad, good husband, trying to keep up with software that seemed to change faster than his instincts could. He thought about the dozens of others, each with their own lives, their own pressures, their own families depending on steady paycheques and a healthy company.

Roy wanted to take care of all of them. That was what mattered to him. And Tom was taking that away. The bitterness of it sat heavy in his chest. There was nothing he could do about it. Not really. So he did what he always did when he couldn't change a situation.

He worked.

Redoubling his efforts to focus, he buried himself in emails. Answered what needed answering. Flagged what needed more thought. Filed away small problems for later. He even carved out a bit of time to work on his bus book, fingers moving automatically over the keyboard as he added notes and edits.

That left a sour taste in his mouth.

Every productive minute on that document felt like a step away from the company he loved. Like quietly packing boxes in his head while still pretending this was home. All the while his eyes would drift to his phone, sitting face down on his desk, the picture of Claire waiting for him, the question scratching at the back of his mind.

Time slipped by anyway.

Late afternoon light slanted through the blinds when Helena Roberts stopped by his office. VP. Boss. Mentor, in a quiet way. Roy had always admired Helena. She was a good leader, inspiring and patient. Watching her over the years had made him a better manager. Much of his career he had her to thank for.

She leaned against the doorframe with an easy smile. "Just wanted to say I've noticed how hard you've been pushing this week. It hasn't gone unnoticed."

Roy looked up, genuinely touched. "Thanks, Helena. That means a lot."

She nodded. "You take care of your people. That's rare. Don't ever lose that."

"I won't," he said, and meant it.

They chatted briefly about timelines and staffing, nothing heavy. Then she headed off for the day, leaving Roy alone in the quieting office.

The building settled into that after-hours hum. Fewer voices. More empty desks. The kind of silence that made typing sound louder than it really was.

Roy decided to put in a few more minutes on the bus book before heading out. Just a bit more. Finish a thought while it was still fresh.

He focused. Really focused. The world narrowed to the screen and the rhythm of his fingers on the keys.

That was why the voice startled him.

A woman's voice.

Unfamiliar.

Close.

"Hey hon," she said casually, as if she had every right to be there. "I thought you might be working late again tonight. I brought us something to eat from work. Hope you don't mind."

Roy froze.

His hands stopped moving.

Slowly, he began to lift his head.