Natalie’s voice filters down the hall and through the door, pulling me out of my social media stalking. I flick my thumb up the screen, photos flying by too quickly to register until the scroll slows on none other than Paul DeCosta’s profile.

There was a time when this photo would have sent me into a spiral, seeing his arm around the shoulders of a beautiful woman. But I’m too distracted by the caption to care where his hand is:

Excited to announce your next favorite culinary reality show: Cook for Camilla. Celebrity chef and food critic Camilla Vargas will be your host, and every episode tasks a new restaurant with the seemingly impossible: receiving the Camilla Vargas stamp of approval. The first season hits TV screens this spring. Head to the link in my bio to apply to have your restaurant featured.

It’s so strange to think that if we were still together, I’d already know about this show. I’d have been privy to all the negotiations and I’d get to hear what it’s like to work with Camilla Vargas. I’m happy for him. Truly. Paul is, undoubtedly, ecstatic about it. He lives to work.

In the photo, the two of them smile at the camera, open and unposed. She’s the kind of polished and classically beautiful celebrity chef he’s used to working with, but my gut check yields no bitter jealousy or worry that I’d made the wrong choice.

Paul was very clear. He did not want this breakup, and he couldn’t quite understand why it was happening at all.

Despite the positive impact this breakup seems to have had on my gym performance, it has tanked my professional life. I don’t know if Amy has clocked the change or if she’s even aware that my breakup coincides perfectly with the changes at work. It doesn’t matter that I broke up with him or how right it felt the moment I’d said the words out loud. It’s like my worth, my talent was tied to him, and he took it all with him when he left.

This new job offer is the potential for a clean slate. An opportunity to get my spark back. Even if it is a demotion.

Idly, I rub at the finger his ring used to sit on. If my mother had a say, Paul and I would be back together. We’d be married already.

But then, Mom doesn’t know why we broke up. She wouldn’t understand. She might even repeat the same things Paul said when I told him that I didn’t want anything to change between us but I think I’m bisexual.

His words were so quiet, so careful, when he’d asked, “Why are you telling me this if you want nothing to change?”

And since he hadn’t immediately dumped me, kicked me out of his bed, I’d thought, this is going well. So, I’d been honest and said:

“Because it’s an important part of me and I want to own it for myself. I want you to know and love every part of me.”