After Dumping Him, I Found Myself

I was organizing quarterly reports on the shared drive when I saw it—a folder labeled simply "O.C. Daily." My cursor hovered over it, something about the initials making my stomach tighten. I shouldn't have clicked. Some part of me knew what I'd find, but I couldn't stop myself.

The document opened, and my blood turned to ice water in my veins.

"Old Crow Daily Chronicles: Observations on Our Feathered Friend"

The first entry was dated six months ago.

*Today Old Crow spent thirty minutes picking through the recycling bin for 'project materials.' What a shame she couldn't find anything useful—maybe because she's too busy cawing at everyone instead of actually contributing?*

I scrolled down, each entry more vicious than the last. Detailed accounts of my daily activities, my clothing choices, even my lunch habits.

*Old Crow brought the same sandwich three days in a row. Wonder if she's saving money for a new nest?*

*She actually asked Mr. O'Brien about the Johnson account today. As if he'd trust her with something that important.*

*Noticed her pecking at her computer keys again. Bet she's sending another desperate email to someone who won't respond.*

My hands trembled as I scrolled through page after page. Eighty-seven pages of mockery. Eighty-seven days of documentation. And there, scattered throughout like poisonous berries, were Travis's own comments:

*'She does kind of remind me of an old crow, doesn't she? Always hanging around the edges of important things.'*

*'Ha! That's a good one about the nest. Maybe we should get her some twigs for her desk.'*

*'She's useful enough, I guess. Crows eat garbage, don't they? Keeps things clean.'*

Garbage. That's what he thought of me. That's what they all thought.

I printed the most damning pages, my movements mechanical as I gathered the warm papers from the printer. The office suddenly felt suffocating, walls closing in as I realized how many people had contributed to this document. How many had laughed at my expense while I smiled and worked alongside them.

I found Travis in his office, feet propped on his desk while he reviewed something on his tablet. He glanced up when I entered, his expression shifting from annoyance to forced casualness.

"Haven? What is it? I'm kinda busy."

Without speaking, I placed the printed pages on his desk. He picked them up, scanning the first page with a furrowed brow that quickly smoothed into a smile.

"Oh, this old thing," he said, chuckling. "Just a little office humor."

"Office humor?" My voice sounded strange to my own ears, hollow and distant. "This is harassment, Travis. And you're participating in it."

He sighed, setting the papers down. "You're overreacting. It's just a nickname."

"A nickname you agreed with." I pointed to his comment about the old crow. "You said I reminded you of one."

Travis laughed, leaning back in his chair. "Come on, Haven. It's pretty accurate, isn't it? You're always picking at details, making sure everything's perfect." He waved his hand dismissively. "You need to lighten up. This place would be boring without a little banter."

"Banter?" I repeated, my fingers touching my collarbone instinctively. "This isn't banter. This is bullying."

"No one's bullying you," he said, his tone hardening slightly. "If you can't handle a little workplace humor, maybe you're looking for problems where none exist."

I stared at him, this man I'd spent eight years of my life with. The man who was supposed to have my back. "And Marleigh? She started this. She's been targeting me for months."

"Marleigh's just being friendly," he snapped. "She's trying to fit in."

That night, our apartment felt like a battlefield. I paced the living room while Travis watched TV, pretending nothing was wrong.

"We need to talk about this," I said finally, turning off the TV despite his protests.

"About what?" he asked, irritation flashing across his face. "That stupid document?"

"About how you've been letting her treat me like this for months. About how you joined in." My voice shook with suppressed anger. "I need you to choose, Travis. Either you support me and put a stop to this, or..."

"Or what?" he challenged, standing up. "You'll leave? Don't be dramatic, Haven."

"I'm not being dramatic. This is my dignity we're talking about."

He laughed, the sound cutting through me like glass. "Your dignity? Jesus, you're being paranoid and jealous. Marleigh's just doing her job."

"By humiliating me?"

"By being friendly! If you can't handle that, maybe you're not cut out for this job."

His words hung in the air between us, crystallizing something I'd suspected for months. In that moment, I saw the truth clearly: I wasn't his partner. I was a convenience. A tool.

Without another word, I walked to our bedroom and began packing my things.

"What are you doing?" he demanded from the doorway.

"What I should have done months ago," I replied, folding my clothes with steady hands. "Leaving."