I love cooking, but my girlfriend barely touches anything I make. Last week, I brought a smoked brisket for my coworker Lily, who’d had a rough day. She’s married, so it wasn’t anything weird.Next day, my blood ran cold when I entered the office and saw a photo of me and Lily pinned to the staff bulletin board—with a bright yellow sticky note that read, “Well aren’t THEY cozy?”
I just stood there for a second, holding my coffee like it might burn through my hand.
The photo was from yesterday’s lunch break. We were outside, sitting on the stone bench behind the building. I had a Tupperware container on my lap.
Lily had her eyes closed, chewing slowly, like she was tasting brisket for the first time in her life. To me, it had been nothing. I brought food all the time.
I love cooking low and slow, layering flavor, feeding people who actually eat it. My girlfriend, Nida, never seemed to care. Said meat made her feel heavy, or she “wasn’t in the mood” for whatever I’d spent six hours marinating.
But I kept trying. Still, seeing that photo up in public—it felt… wrong. Like something personal had been twisted just enough to look suspicious.
I looked around. No one nearby. I peeled the note off and stuffed it in my pocket.
Then I took the photo down too. I sat at my desk trying not to sweat through my shirt. Who the hell would do that?
An hour later, I found out. My manager, Rita, called me into her office. She shut the door and gestured to the chair.
“Sit.”
That’s when she slid the photo across her desk. “You want to tell me what this is?” she asked. I sighed.
What happened next changed everything… FULL STORY on the next page.
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