For two weeks, my last two weeks of work, I revisit the letter to Hugh so frequently that it has torn edges and tear stains. On my last day, I decide to mail it, smudges and all. I send it to the address on his email signature. Vanessa had emailed all of us pictures of the formal dive logs, the air we consumed, the depth we dived to, the weather and the locations. Hugh had replied to the email thanking her, his Sydney address hovering surreptitiously at the end of his note.

I read back over the pages explaining why I lied to him and what he meant to me. I explain what I realised since coming home, that before we met, I thought that being in love meant that part of your identity became that person. I thought it was romantic, the idea that a ‘couple’ would lose part of their identities as they grew closer together. But then I met Hugh. And the more I fell for him, the more I felt like me.

The only change I make is adding a postscript. I quit my job, I write. Thank you for seeing something bigger in me than a 9–5 cubicle. Love, Andi.

Almost as soon as I start at the lab, the Boston conference comes up. Millie still can’t travel, she’s not supposed to go anywhere while they’re monitoring her for risk of another infection, and she nominates me to go and present her research in her stead. Usually, the opportunity wouldn’t go to the newest lab tech, but everyone else is either buried in work catching up after the holidays or doesn’t want to prep a presentation. Now that I’m an employed marine biologist, Millie reminds me cheerfully, I can present research without feeling like a fraud.

I lean into preparation, trying to make the most of the opportunity. I’ll be the only one from the team going, which makes me both more nervous (I would rather have someone to show me the ropes) and less nervous (I am glad none of my peers will be there to watch my lecture). I like having something to work on that I’m passionate about. I even use some of my old slide deck skills from Sunshine Foods to add a little creativity to what I’m presenting.

After I show my boss the first draft of my deck, she formally adds my name to the conference agenda. I start to check it habitually after that, wondering if Hugh will see, wondering if he will change his mind.

It takes five days. Exactly a month after I sent the letter, Hugh’s name disappears from the schedule. I stare at my phone open-mouthed. My stomach drops. I try to use the breath exercises I’ve learned in yoga, now that I’ve finally started going to classes, but even they didn’t calm the jackhammering of my heart.