His After-Hours Strategy Sessions With Vanessa Ended Our Marriage

0:00This is Rick Burgess from The Rick Burgess Show. If you're still auto renewing your car insurance without shopping around, you are probably throwing money away. I'm telling you, go check out Insurify. In about two minutes, totally free, you can compare quotes from over 100 companies all in one place. Now, here's what I love. Insurify actually monitors your rates and alerts you when prices drop. So you never miss out on a better deal. Millions of people have used it to stop overpaying. And there's no reason you shouldn't do. Do yourself a favor. See what you can say right now at insurify.com. This is Matt Rogers from Lost Culture East. That's with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. This is Bowen Yang from Lost Culture East. That's Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. You know when people try a new food and suddenly it's like, OK, hold on. I got a new favorite food. That's the reaction a lot of people are having when they first try Cupid Mayon. Yeah, it's the one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. You've probably seen it at the grocery store. And this mayo is different. Most mayonnaise uses whole eggs. Cupid only uses egg yolks, which gives it this rich umami flavor. It's smoother, deeper, almost buttery.

1:01Once people try it, they start putting it on everything. Egg sandwiches, fries, burgers, chefs use it, restaurants use it, people who really care about flavor use it, put it on just about anything. Then you'll understand. Cupid, the original Japanese mayonnaise. It's raining so hard the windows vibrate. The street lights blurred into yellow brush strokes on the panes. And all I can hear is the hush of tires in the puddled street below. Alex usually texts me through storms. Some meme about boat shoes, a running joke about Noah, or just something dopey to let me know he's on the way. Tonight, all I get is a clipped message. Running late, don't wait up. It sits on my phone like a stubbed toe, sharp, lingering, annoying. Alex is never a turse in text. Three years ago, he started adding that stupid octopus emoji to every message and it's stuck. So even his I'm on my way would end with that little purple guy. But not tonight.

2:01The message lands at 6.13 and then nothing. The bottle of cabane on the kitchen counter still unopened, condensation, haloing the label. I'd bought it for game night, anticipating six or eight people crowding onto our mismatched couch, laughing over code names and charcuterie things you eat with toothpicks. It was supposed to be our night. Alex had started the group and kept it going all these years, even convincing his shyest work friend to come out last month. But just after lunch, he'd claimed a late client meeting at the agency. He sent his regrets to the group, two sentences, apologetic, but vague. He didn't even make a joke about bringing the leftovers. I unload the cheese I'd picked up from Mariano's, arranging it on the blue ceramic platter. We got at that flea market in Lakeview. The silence seems to grow, pressing inward. Our apartment is a first floor to bedroom just north of Logan Square, with brick walls that hold in the smells of every dinner we've ever cooked.

3:01I try not to check my phone again, but I do, clicking into the group chat, 13 unread messages, all riffing on someone's poor scrabble play, none from Alex. He hasn't replied once today, which is basically unheard of for him. I want to ask if everyone else noticed, but suddenly it seems desperate. Laughter and a clatter echo from the main hallway, someone's coming in. I open the door a crack, just in time to spot Sarah. She's dressed for a night out, beige trench, Brickred Curls pinwheeled under a wool beret, carrying a cardboard box from the bakery downstairs. I'd invited her last week, but she'd texted an excuse about work running late, so I don't expect her here. She laughs over her shoulder at someone out of frame, then disappears down her own hall, the door closing with the puff of an old wooden jam. Something doesn't fit, but I can't find the corner. I set the wine aside, resisting the urge to open it alone.

4:03Instead, I pick up the bowl of olives and pour half back into the jar. The rain intensifies, somebody revving their engine in the alley. I'm so tired of rain and cancelled plans, and tonight, of feeling oddly out of the loop. Alex used to send me play by plays if he was stuck late, recapping everything from someone's too loud conference call to microwave popcorn disasters. I scroll back through our messages, pictures of his detritus-covered desk, a video of a raccoon sighting on Ashland. Things felt close. Lately, it's as if each shared meme is crowded by unspoken apologies, but surely I tell myself this is just stress. He's up for a promotion, his team's juggling three clients. This is what we wanted. Ambition, the door always cracked open for the next step up. I refill my glass of water and open the window, even though it lets in the wet chill, hoping the city's breathing will steady me. I catch myself counting how many weeks since we last had a real dinner together,

5:06since he suggested a date night instead of me nudging the calendar. Maybe I'm being needy, or maybe I'm missing some sign everyone else already read. I close the group chat, turning the phone over as if it's screen might infect me with more disappointment. Memory tugs me back to last Friday. Alex at the centre of our living room, red cheque-shirt sleeves rolled up, brown hair a little too long over his ears, eyes shining with that competitive edge he never really outgrew. He was narrating the final round of trivia, fielding jokes, winking at me after every right answer. That Alex, at ease and fully present, felt like my anchor. Tonight it's just me in the kitchen, the rain, and a swelling unease I can't explain, pressing on the certainty I thought I had in us. And our passes and still, no message. There's a picture framed in my mind, four years ago, two strangers ducking into a Greek tap-ass bar after getting drenched by a spring thunderstorm.

6:07Alex was in his late twenties, all energy and quick grins, and the rough stubble of someone who barely gets home in time to collapse. I'd been sent to the campaign launch by my boss, expected to network desperate for the open bar. It was Alex who'd sidled up, offered to rescue me from marketing small talk, and managed to make conversation both effortless and somehow just for me. He wore jeans that frayed at the hem, and a navy sport coat he always said he stole from a friend with better taste. His hair, chestnut brown, cut short on the sides, a little unruly on top spiked with rain. His smile, wide-lipped, slightly crooked, the left corner always up first. I still catch my breath sometimes when he comes home laughing, shaking rain from his collar, layered in those blues and grays. My friends call him the life of the party, but to me he's best in all the quiet in between. We fell in fast, city life pulling us in a tornado of branches and gallery nights, runs along the lake,

7:10camping trips that devolved into board games in the tent. I was always the planner, the one to wrangle ride-shears, make a reservation three weeks out, double-check logistics. Alex was the improviser, suggesting rooftop cocktails at the last minute, sweet talking the host into squeezing in two more friends, always promising somehow that things would work out. That was our rhythm. His spontaneity account awaited to my precision. We settled into this Logan Square apartment six years ago after comparing walk-up budgets over cheap sushi. He insisted on a space big enough to host, and we filled it nearly every weekend. Some months we saw our friends three nights in a row, movie nights sprawled on blankets, game marathons, pancakes at noon. There was a month when work was brutal for both of us that we vowed to never let our careers eat away at the thing we loved most, our wild messy tribe. We hosted a friend's giving every November, the crowd never the same twice,

8:11folding tables, groaning with too much food and laughter echoing through the halls late into the night. We made time or tried to. The first Wednesday of every month reserved for justice. A different neighborhood restaurant rules about no work talk. Saturdays we drag ourselves out for runs on the trail by the lake, even if run meant half walking, half complaining until we landed at the bagel place. On weeknights take out on the couch, swapping low stakes gossip and demanding comfort from bad TV. My calendar is still littered with color coded reminders. Date night, run, brunch, invite Sarah plus Ben. Our social group is our glue. Our friends cross over from work to weekends. Casey, my razor-witted best friend since grad school, Ben, Alex's agency buddy, always invented jackets. Sarah, whose boisterous laugh can fill any room. There's a warmth to being Alex and Kristen, people expected to arrive together.

9:11There were no locked doors, at least, none that weren't half a joke. When my friend and divorced, Alex was the one who drove her to pick up her things, listening to her vent for hours. When Alex's mom had surgery, I managed the soup schedule, signups, and sat bedside cracking jokes, ignoring the sterile walls. But we always circled back to the same vulnerabilities. The work hours, the ambition that nudged us to take on too much, the sense that sometimes we were living adjacent to our own lives. There were fights, who hadn't snapped at 10 pm over emails and missed birthdays. I can still hear Alex's tone from one endless Tuesday. We have to get through this pitch. It's just a week. And then, weeks stretching into months. Still, our routines form the scaffolding, touchments to haul ourselves back to each other. That's what scares me tonight. Not just the silence, but the way it's interrupted everything we built, leaving no explanation I can easily fix.

10:12The morning after the rain-doubt game night, I try to move past the mood, clouding me, blame it on leftover olives and bad sleep. Alex is up before me, already in the shower. I hear him singing under the water, trailing off into a tumeless hum. 830, then nine. I settle into our tiny breakfast table with coffee scrolling headlines, wishing I'd slept better. He comes out, still dripping, towel slung low at his hips, hair flattened. Alex is slim but wiery mid-30s, though people usually guess younger when he laughs. There are streaks of grey just starting at his temples, barely visible in this light. He's always quick to show affection in the mornings, running a hand over my shoulders as he passes, quoting fake headlines from the phone. But today he moves past without a word, pouring through the drawer for socks. Hey, you've seen my blue tie, he doesn't look up. Living room chair, where you dropped it. He grunts already halfway out, I study his face,

11:12eyes a little puffy, jaw speckled with stubble mist by the razor, need caffeine. He shakes his head, muttering something about being late. A half jokingly mentioned Sara's birthday next week should we book that Korean place, but he barely reacts, stuffing the tie into his laptop bag. Yeah, sounds good, remind me later, okay. His voice sounds distracted, almost mechanical. I don't push, after he leaves it nags at me, but this is just life right. Busy weeks, crossed wires, will reset, we always do. Around lunch, Casey stops by my office for a walk. She's tall, sharp featured with boyish, cropped hair, today wearing an oversized olive trench and mismatched sneakers. Somehow she always looks like she just stepped out of an indie film. As we wind through Grant Park, we commiserate about deadlines. Ran into Alex at that bagel place last week, Casey says, he seemed tired, is he okay?

12:15I brush off my nerves, probably client stuff. He's chasing this insane account. But then Friday, passing Alex's office, I overhear a woman mere, one of his colleagues, joking about the wild happy hour last night. Alex's laugh is tight, awkward, and he changes the subject almost immediately, asking her about a campaign detail. I freeze, wondering. Last night he'd said he was working late from home, ordering sushi and groaning about proofs. Am I misremembering? Did I miss something? Am I inventing reasons to worry? That afternoon, after my third cup of coffee, I try to let it go. We all need our space. I have my own deadlines this week, big campaign launches. Maybe it's loneliness masquerading as suspicion. I make a point to reply to a lingering email and tell myself to focus. But Alex doesn't text all evening, not once. He cancels game night again the next week.

13:16This time he comes home nearly midnight, tossing his keys onto the bowl with a clink. I'm curled up watching an old sitcom, barely pretending to keep my eyes open. The moment the door shuts, there's a sharp, sharp scent. A new cologne, spicy, not his usual musky citrus. I notice it, but say nothing. He peels off his jacket, pauses, and for a second I'm sure he's going to come over and kiss my forehead. But instead, he heads straight to the bathroom. How was the client? I call after him, pitching my tone carefully neutral. Long just drinks at the bar after, my head's fried. He's in there longer than usual. I hear the water run, draws opening and closing. When he emerges he looks drained. His shirt wrinkled, hair flattened on one side. I pat the couch beside me, but he only mutters something about catching emails and disappears into the bedroom with his laptop. I lock up something in me tightening, swallowing twice before I switch off the lights.

14:19This is Steve Covino from Covino and Rich. All right, quick round of trivia, before we get back into the show. But we're doing it differently this time. Every guy listening right now, you're contestant. No buzzers, no cologne in. Just answer honestly to yourself. Here we go. You got a belly and a little chest, that won't go away no matter what you try. Gast by the middle of the afternoon, no drive left in the tank, and lastly you lack that confidence in mental edge. Fellowes, here's the thing. Those are classic signs that your testosterone's been sliding. And nothing drags it down faster than extra weight. The good news? Emerging research suggests that getting rid of it may actually be more effective than TRT. So why not take matters into your own hands? Strip off the weight that tanks your testosterone with Bioma GLP-1 booster. Every serving is packed with science, backed, and third party tested ingredients that crank up your natural GLP-1 production. So you can enjoy a leaner physique, surging energy, and increased drive. Visit bioma.health slash GLP-1, and use code CR Show to get 15% off your first order.

15:22That's bioma.health slash GLP-1, code CR Show for 15% off. This is Troy Millings from Earn Your Leisure. On Earn Your Leisure, we're all about smart money moves. And here's one most people skip, and it starts with insureify. Most of us never shop our car insurance. The policy renews every year, the rate creeps up a little at a time, and nobody calls you to tell you. You stay with the same company because it's easy, and that convenience costs you real money. That's what insureify fixes. Real quotes for more than 120 top insurance companies side by side. About two minutes free, no phone calls, no pressure. And if there's nothing better for you right now, insureify keeps watching and tells you when that changes, so you're never stuck over paying. Millions of people have used insureify to shop for their car insurance. So insure with insureify. Go to insureify.com. That's INSUR-IFY.com. Insureify.com. This is Matt Rogers from Los Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang.

16:22This is Bowen Yang from Los Culturistas. Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. You know when people try a new food, and suddenly it's like, wait. That's the reaction. A lot of people are having when they first try QB Mayo. It's the one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. You've probably seen it in the grocery store before. And if you've ever just walked past it, some people would say that's a huge mistake. Because this mayo is different. Most mayonnaise uses whole eggs. QB only uses egg yolks, which gives it this rich umami flavor. It's smoother, deeper, and almost buttery. Once people try it, they start putting it on everything. Egg sandwiches, fries, burgers, some fans even swear by dipping pizza crust in it. And once you notice it, you start seeing it everywhere. Chefs use it, restaurants use it. People who really care about flavor use it. Never try it, grab the bottle with the red cap next time you're out of the store. Put it on just about anything, then you'll understand. QB, the original Japanese mayonnaise. The next afternoon, scrolling through social media while waiting for takeout, I pause at a picture tagged by me.

17:24A familiar bar, not our usual, but one Alex's client has mentioned before. They're in a big half circle booth, faces glowing under blue neon signs, drinks and appetizers scattered across the table. There's Alex laughing, arms stretched along the back of the seat wedged between office friends. On his left, a woman I don't know, a sharp chinned brunette in a fitted olive blazer, dark eyes highlighted beneath smoky shadowed lids, sitting so close her knee almost touches his. She's grinning, head tipped back, hair smooth and shiny, and her hand rests on the booth's edge, almost behind Alex's back. I stare at the woman online until the image blurs. She's tagged, Vanessa. The first time I've seen her, though her name floats back to me from Alex's stories, the new strategist at the agency. But Alex never described her like this. She doesn't look like just one of the crowd. I fish out my phone and swipe through our bank app, something I only do when our next date night looms,

18:27tallying up dinners out. There's a tab from the archers place. The bar in the photo, $123 split across a single charge, dated last Thursday the night he missed game night. He'd mentioned drinks with the team, but that's steeper than any typical post-work round. That night I sit across from him at the dinner table, pecking at leftovers from my solo game night, crackers and cheese and cubes of ham that taste like reheated anxiety. I saw someone tagged you in a photo at archers, looked fun, I say, light teasing. Alex glances up, fork pausing. Oh yeah, after the meeting, the usual rowdy crowd, you know how it gets. Who's Vanessa? I don't think we've met. I try to keep it casual, but my voice comes out small. He shrugs, new strategist just joined, jumps in on everything, she's loud, you'd like her. He makes a face, then changes the subject,

19:28asks if I've heard back from my client about the pitch, not like Alex who loves to talk about agency politics, the endless soap opera of colleagues and egos. A brunch with our friends on Sunday, things feel normal for about 15 minutes. Ben, a tall, broad-cholded guy who wouldn't be caught dead without some pop culture t-shirt under his jacket, teases Sara about her competitive charades routine the last game night. Someone cracks a joke about kicking Alex off trivia for his dad jokes, but then Sara leans in, bright blue nails tapping a glass and says, oh my god, Casey did Alex tell you about the shot contest at Arches. Wildest happy hour I've seen, I thought you were going to fall off the booth, Alex. There's a ripple of laughter, but I freeze. That was the same night as the cancelled game night. Alex doesn't meet my gaze. I force a smile, but my mind is reeling. Why hadn't he mentioned this even off-hand? Why would my husband lie about something so simple?

20:30After we get home, I sit beside him on the couch and ask, so this happy hour you all had, did you guys win the shot contest? I heard you almost lost your shoes. He blinks smiles like he's searching for a joke. You know how it is, sales guys showing off. Meer left early, it was mostly just the junior folks, nothing worth retelling. Vanessa there. He's already poking his phone. Probably I can barely remember. It was loud I bylaid before midnight. He closes the phone stretches and says he's got to finish some emails. That night after he falls asleep, I turn my phone silent and message Casey, needing a reality check. Hey, something's off with Alex. He's distracted all the time, missing plans, hiding details. Am I losing my mind? Casey's reply is slow to come, but eventually a little bubble appears. He seemed different at work,

21:30always talking to that new girl, Vanessa something, she shadows him everywhere, could just be office politics, want to grab a drink and vent next week. I dropped the phone on the comforter, suddenly winded. In the following days, Alex seems to float inside our routines, but never settle. He skips our Saturday run, claiming he needs to finish a proposal. When I ask if he'll come to Sara's themed dinner, he says not sure, he has to check his crazy week. He gets snappy when I want to sink calendars, raising an eyebrow as if I'm tracking him. I try to recapture what's slipping. I buy tickets to a stand-up show we once loved, text him with a heart emoji. Surprise date night, tomorrow at eight. He says yes, then shows up almost 40 minutes late, hair must, eyes shadowed. He kisses me on the cheek, apologizes for crisis mode, and spends half the show checking his watch. I go home more exhausted than before,

22:31and despite sharing a bed, I feel a chasm between us that nothing, talking late night TV, even closeness, can bridge. Three days pass on edge. One morning, after a night so fitful, I nearly text work to call in sick, I confront Alex, not an attack, just a plea for context. While I'm making coffee, hands shaking a little, I say, you've seemed so distant lately, I barely see you. Are you okay? Is it work? Do you want to talk about it? He slumps against the counter, sounding older, smaller. Sorry, it's just the agency is a mess. We might lose the Peterson account. I feel like whatever I do isn't enough. I reach for his hand, trying not to let too much hope leak out. We'll figure it out, if you need to vent I'm here. He squeezes my hand weekly and nods. I love you, I'm sorry I've been a ghost, I swear I'll be better after this campaign. Just give me a week.

23:33He starts bringing home little gifts again, pastries from our favorite bakery, my favorite dark roast. On Saturday he suggests an impromptu drive to Oak Park where we used to spend slow afternoons when things were new. He even comes to game night the first time in weeks, though he's a bit less animated, eyes glassy. When our friends rip him about his workaholic ways, he laughs, but there's a catch in his voice. Still I feel relief bloat my chest. Maybe it really was just stress, this valley behind us now. Then at brunch with friends the next Sunday, I catch a conversation out of the corner of my ear. Sara, halfway through her mimosa, says, Kristen, what do you think about Alex showing up with Vanessa at drinks last week? Your text said you couldn't make it, but it looked fun. My fork pauses halfway to my mouth. What night? Thursday, archers place, we did those ridiculous trivia shots. Vanessa totally carried you guys.

24:35I swallow, I am didn't go. I didn't even know they were meeting up that night. Sara frowns, oh, maybe I misunderstood. He was there forever, left with Vanessa, I think. I try to smile, but there's a sour burning in my stomach. When Alex returns from the restroom, I let the thread drop. But I can't shake the way the truth seems to be peeking through cracks in every story refracted into something even I don't recognize. That night, after he's asleep, I can't rest. I prop myself up in the half-dark, listening to the Doppler hush of traffic, replaying the last month. The next day, he forgets his laptop at home, dashing out the door in his usual frantic way, tied draped like a scarf, laces dragging. I tidy up as usual, folding sweaters, stacking mail. Then his laptop pings, a calendar remind of flashing in the corner. I hesitate, but the computers already unlocked, right there on the kitchen counter,

25:36his agency dashboard flickering open. There's a block of recurring events, strategy session, Vanessa, not just one. Every week for the last month, they've gone late, color-coded in blue, always at unfamiliar bars or meeting suites. They're on thirst, the archers' place entry, aligned perfectly with another late night. And two others, each on nights I remember sitting alone, silent group chats abandoned. I swallow hard, scrolling back. There's a receipt folded into his messenger bag on the table, Montrose House, boutique hotel bar, just a short walk from the agency. Two glasses of Malbec, one flawless chocolate cake, Thursday, 9.13 pm, the same night as another missed game night. I text Casey, what do you know about Vanessa, where Alex and her close at work, could it be something more? Casey's reply is tentative. Vanessa's the new digital strategist, late 20s, sharply dressed, tall with a ferocious pixie cut,

26:38always in chic blazers and ripped jeans, a shock of gold at her ears. She's kind of everywhere, people say she's always with Alex. No idea if it's more, want to get coffee, you okay. I'm not, but I say yes. At work the next day, I can barely focus. I pretend to listen in meetings, staring at my phone, trying not to check his calendar again. My mind cycles, maybe it's really just work. They need to strategize, maybe she's just the new favorite, but the receipts, the photos, the secrets, they pile up. That night, after a dinner that tastes like sawdust, I gather every ounce of calm and bring it up, direct this time. I've been hearing a lot about Vanessa lately, I start keeping my voice soft. Are you spending a lot of time together at work? Alex glances up from his phone, face locked somewhere between annoyance and fear. She's new, she's good, we work on the Peterson campaign,

27:38she asks a lot of questions. People say you've been inseparable. He half laughs shakes his head, office gossip, we're slammed, that's all, his tone is defensive, forced, you know everyone talks. I tuck my legs under me, feeling the couches threads. Why didn't you tell me you were out with her Thursday? He snorts, I meant to, I was wiped. It was just team drinks, Kristen, you're reading too much into it. I stare at him searching for any crack. I don't want a pry, I just, you're different lately. He stands, grabs his half finished water. This is ridiculous, I need to get some work done. The conversation slams shut, I sit in the silence, the ticking clock pounding in my ear. I finally reach out to Ben, the only person at the agency who might not just default to Alex's side. Ben's voice is reluctant. Look, I don't want any drama, but yeah, I saw Alex

28:41and Vanessa at Montrose House Bar Thursday, they looked, close, flirty maybe, but it's not my business, you know. I thank him, my voice brittle, heart racing. When I hang up, my hands are ice. This is Steve Covino from Covino and Rich. All right, quick round of trivia, before we get back into the show. But we're doing it differently this time. Every guy listening right now, you're contestant. No buzzers, no calling in. Just answer honestly to yourself. Here we go. You got a belly and a little chest, that won't go away no matter what you try. Gast by the middle of the afternoon, no drive left in the tank. And lastly, you lack that confidence in mental edge. Fellowes, here's the thing. Those are classic signs that your testosterone's been sliding. And nothing drags it down faster than extra weight. The good news? Emerging research suggests that getting rid of it may actually be more effective than TRT. So why not take matters into your own hands? Strip off the weight that tanks your testosterone with Bioma GLP1 booster. Every serving is packed with science back

29:42and third party tested ingredients that crank up your natural GLP1 production. So you can enjoy a leaner physique, surging energy, and increased drive. Visit bioma.health slash GLP1 and use code CR Show to get 15% off your first order. That's bioma.health slash GLP1. Code CR Show for 15% off. This is Troy Millings from Earn Your Leisure. On Earn Your Leisure, we're all about smart money moves. And here's one most people skip. And it starts with insureify. Most of us never shop our car insurance. The policy renews every year. The rate creeps up a little at a time. And nobody calls you to tell you. You stay with the same company because it's easy. And that convenience costs you real money. That's what insureify fixes. Real quotes from more than 120 top insurance companies side by side. About two minutes free, no phone calls, no pressure. And if there's nothing better for you right now, insureify keeps watching and tells you when that changes so you're never stuck over paying.

30:42Millions of people have used insureify to shop for their car insurance. So insure with insureify. Go to insureify.com. That's INSURIFY.COM. Insureify.com. This is Matt Rogers from Los Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. This is Bowen Yang from Los Culturistas. Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. You know when people try a new food, and suddenly it's like, wait. That's the reaction. A lot of people are having when they first try QB Mayo. It's the one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. You've probably seen it in the grocery store before. And if you've ever just walked past it, some people would say that's a huge mistake. Because this mayo is different. Most mayonnaise uses whole eggs. QB only uses egg yolks, which gives it this rich umami flavor. It's smoother, deeper, and almost buttery. Once people try it, they start putting it on everything. Egg sandwiches, fries, burgers, some fans even swear by dipping pizza crust in it. And once you notice it, you start seeing it everywhere. Chefs use it. Restaurants use it.

31:42People who really care about flavor use it. Never try it. Grab the bottle with the red cap next time you're at the store. Put it on just about anything. Then you'll understand. QB, the original Japanese mayonnaise. That night, Alex arrives home later than ever. He barely looks at me, tossing his bag down, mumbling about a long, client call. I follow him into the kitchen, standing beneath the harsh overhead bulb, and say, I know you were at Montrose House with Vanessa. People saw you. He sets down his glass, jaw set. This is insane. You're tracking me now. It was a work thing. You want to go through my emails, too. I want a scream. Instead, I stare at him, fighting tears, thinking of every group night, every inside joke, every late run, just the two of us. He storms off to the bedroom. I sink into the kitchen chair, cold pressing up through my feet, and finally admit. I can't find a way to explain this away. Not with calendars or receipts or wrote reassurances.

32:44There's a lattice of lies here, weaving through even the smallest spaces, the place we're supposed to be safest. But I don't have the truth, not yet. And I need it, whatever it turns out to be. Days blend together, thick with anticipation and dread. There is a taste to not knowing, a raw wire hospitality to every shadow. I start noticing things I would have missed or forced myself to miss. The way Alex responds to my texts at odd hours, but with flat, utilitarian words, smiley's forgotten, brevity now his hallmark. He still comes home, goes through the domestic rituals, but he's half here, like someone tuning a radio between two stations. At first, I spin stories for these absences, bad sleep, busy season, agency politics, but the cork spins tighter. The kitchen feels emptier every night. Sara invites us to a screening at the music box and Alex reacts strangely. It's not the flat out, can't, working late text.

33:46It's more evasive, the kind of excuse that could be true if you want it to be. I think I have to cover a call for the L-A team. Maybe if we're done in time, he doesn't elaborate. I go alone, and afterward walking home with Sara, I mention that he's working too much. She tries to play it off, but I catch hesitation in her posture. You too need, like a day without screens, she jokes, but the joke bends at the edge. He'll come around, he's not himself lately. Something in me flares, what does that mean exactly? Sara hesitates, glancing away, she fiddles with her kitchen. I just mean I don't know, he seems more worn out less present, at least from what I've seen, I wouldn't read too much into it. I thank her, say goodnight, but her words lodge themselves between my ribs. At the time I get inside, Alex is already in bed, lights out, breathing even and deep. I wonder if he's really asleep. Saturday morning I try to salvage habit,

34:47pulling on running tights, determined to coax him out. Want to go down to the lake, I call, fixing peanut butter toast. He appears in gym shorts, but doesn't touch his breakfast. Sorry, I need to get cracking on some emails, rain check. I nod, feeling silly in my running shoes. You've bylaid three times now. He looks up, a guilt-smooth smile. I know, next week I promise. Next week comes, and there are more meetings, more lost evenings. I try to keep my tone light, but my questions get edged. Monday I find a new bacharge to Westlake Suites, a co-working hotel a few trains stops away. The ride timestamped 11, 14pm on a Wednesday. I don't remember him saying he'd be out that late. When he returns home that night, his mood is buoyant, almost forced. He sets down his bag, washes his mug, asks if I want to split a frozen pizza. I want to say no to interrogate, but I watch him instead back turned at the sink.

35:50So what kept you out tonight? My voice is softer than I intend. Alex shrugs, strategy meeting ran long. We ended up moving to a lounge because the office was closing. He glances up, meets my eye just long enough to be noticed, then dries his hands with sharp, deliberate gestures. Anyone I know there, I press gently. He shakes his head too quick. Mostly the analytics guys. Vanessa was there, she's our point on digital. A couple of creatives, it wasn't fun. His tone is clinical, stitches sewn with thin thread. It's the first time he anticipates my question, and names Vanessa before I do. Is it meant to ease me or inoculate against suspicion? He doesn't linger for follow up, disappearing into a phone call with his brother, talking quietly in the spare bedroom. After he's asleep, I dig deeper. I search for any trace of Vanessa, her LinkedIn, her public profiles. She exudes a kind of curated modernity.

36:52Clever captions, sharp angled headshots, industry events populated with agency logos. This is Steve Kovino from Kovino and Rich. All right, quick round of trivia before we get back into the show. But we're doing it differently this time. Every guy listening right now, you're contestant. No buzzers, no calling in. Just answer honestly to yourself. Here we go. You got a belly and a little chest that won't go away no matter what you try. Gasped by the middle of the afternoon, no drive left in the tank, and lastly you lack that confidence in mental edge. Fellas, here's the thing. Those are classic signs that your testosterone's been sliding, and nothing drags it down faster than extra weight. The good news, emerging research suggests that getting rid of it may actually be more effective than TRT. So why not take matters into your own hands? Strip off the weight that tanks your testosterone with Bioma GLP1 booster. Every serving is packed with science back and third party tested ingredients that crank up your natural GLP1 production. So you can enjoy a leaner physique, surging energy, and increased drive.

37:54Buyoma.health slash GLP1 and use code CR Show to get 15% off your first order. That's Bioma.health slash GLP1 code CR Show for 15% off. This is Troy Millens from Earn Your Leisure. On Earn Your Leisure we're all about smart money moves, and here's one most people skip, and it starts with insureify. Most of us never shop our car insurance. The policy renews every year, the rate creeps up a little at a time, and nobody calls you to tell you. Stay with the same company because it's easy, and that convenience costs you real money. That's what insureify fixes. Real quotes for more than 120 top insurance companies side by side. About two minutes free, no phone calls, no pressure. And if there's nothing better for you right now, insureify keeps watching and tells you when that changes, so you're never stuck over paying. Millions of people have used insureify to shop for their car insurance. So insure with insureify. Go to insureify.com. That's INSURR. IFY.com. Insureify.com.

38:55This is Matt Rodgers from Los Cultures. That's with Matt Rodgers and Bowen Yang. This is Bowen Yang from Los Cultures. It's Matt Rodgers and Bowen Yang. You know when people try a new food, and suddenly it's like, wait. That's the reaction. A lot of people are having when they first try QB Mayo. It's the one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. You've probably seen it in the grocery store before. And if you've ever just walked past it, some people would say that's a huge mistake. Because this mayo is different. Most mayonnaise uses whole eggs. QB only uses egg yolks, which gives it this rich umami flavor. It's smoother, deeper, and almost buttery. Once people try it, they start putting it on everything. Egg sandwiches, fries, burgers, some fans even swear by dipping pizza crust in it. And once you notice it, you start seeing it everywhere. Chefs use it. Restaurants use it. People who really care about flavor use it. Never try it, grab the bottle with the red cap next time you're at the store. Put it on just about anything, then you'll understand. QB, the original Japanese mayonnaise.

39:56She's newer to the city. I notice photos with Alex buried among launch party highlights. Their proximity never inappropriate, but familiar. I'm not sure what I expect to see. I try talking to Casey in person. We meet at a crowded corner cafe, rain soaking the backs of my heels, hands trembling around the mug. Casey is circumspect. She nurses her chai with the wary tact of someone afraid to give bad news. It's something actually bothering you, she asks, leaning forward. Or is it just the hours? It feels like he's hiding something, I can find, in a whisper. He's out with Vanessa a lot. He says it's all work. Casey grimaces. I've noticed they're always paired up in meetings. She brings her to client stuff, but honestly that's not that weird. She's pushing for a new digital initiative. People talk, but it's agency life. You really think there's more. I shake my head, embarrassed by the hope in that answer, but not quite able to believe

41:00it. I decide to test the limits. That evening, anticipating another late night at the office text, I show up at the agency. I tell myself I'm dropping off lunch, part plausible cover, part desperate grasp at proof. I ride the elevator up, nerves tangling. Through the half-frosted glass of the main meeting room, I see them. Alex and Vanessa heads bent close together over a laptop. There is nothing overtly intimate. She's pointing to the screen, he's nodding. She laughs at something he says. But when I enter, the vibe in the room shifts. Alex stiffens. Vanessa straightens, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. Hey, this is a surprise. Alex says a smile blinking on then off. Everything okay. Just thought you'd want dinner. Brought you your favorite ban, my. My voice is forced casual. Alex glances at Vanessa then at me. That's sweet thanks, sorry, we're deep in metrics hell.

42:02Vanessa chimes in, her tone warm but hurried. Nice to finally meet you, Kristen. Alex has told me all about your epic game nights. She grins, but there's something practiced in it. Maybe you'll join us sometime, I say, and the invitation hangs awkwardly. Vanessa's eyebrow arch is just a flash and she says, I'd love that. Once things calm down around here, ah, she gestures at the whiteboard thick with deadlines. You too look busy, I won't keep you. I set the food on the edge of the table. As I leave, I catch Alex's glance, relieved maybe, but tight. I walk out with the sense that some other conversation will begin the instant I'm out of earshot. For a few days thereafter he seems to try lingering at breakfast, making sure we end up watching the same show at night, even bringing me flowers from the farmer's market Sunday. But even with these gestures I start to note what's missing. He never touches me first, not in the way he used to.

43:04Our physical intimacy phrase, he holds me, but it's careful like someone remembering a password they haven't used in years. One night lying beside him I ask, can we get away for a weekend? We haven't left the city in months. He hesitates then, I'll check my calendar, it's all a mess right now, maybe next month. Next month, always next month. At work I see a new joint credit card charge, Nicolets, an upscale cocktail bar in River North, another Thursday, another odd time, close to midnight. It is a place we've never tried together, but I know the name because it's come up in Alex's recaps of agency outings. I run a passive Google search, find images of MoodyBanket seating, velvet booths tucked into gold-leafed corners. I consider texting him, asking how the night went, but I can't find a way to word it without sounding like I'm keeping tabs. Instead I call Casey again.

44:04Is there a thing with Alex and Vanessa, the words thump out of me, frustrated and thin? Casey's size. You already asked me, I really don't know. She jokes around a lot, he seems to like hanging with her, but I've never seen them alone outside the office. And again I don't follow them everywhere. I try not to sound disappointed. No, yeah I just feel alone lately. Casey says quietly, if you want you can come over anytime, even if it's just to escape your own head. I'll think about it. That night in ritual I look for clues. I check his jacket pockets before tossing them into the wash. The only thing I find is a business card from a tech recruiter backside scrawled in a looping hand. Let's chat, Vee my heart skips. Vee could be anyone, Victor, Vanessa, Veronica, but this feels like a trap door in my own house. Dinner that night is stir fry, but conversation is stickier than soy sauce.

45:07What's next for you at the agency, I ask, gentle as I can. Alex blinks, then clears his throat, might be up for a new project lead, depends how this Peterson campaign goes. Starting with Vanessa again, my tone is light, but my hands tremble around the chopsticks. He shrugs then, probably she's sharp, I like her work. I wait for more, any personal details, but he's as reflective as a closed window. Later as we get ready for bed I catch him flinching away from my touch. I want to cry but don't let myself. I don't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how deep this cuts. I start paying closer attention to my friends too. I realize they seem to ask about Alex more often, how's he doing? You too good, but not in the usual jesting tone. There's real inquiry in their eyes. Are they just worried or do they know something I do? At Tuesday trivia I arrive alone.

46:08Someone asks, is Alex coming? And a conversation ripples between Ben and Sarah before Ben says too easily, probably got roped into another networking drinks. I don't know whether I'm supposed to laugh. Mid week I wake to an Instagram notification, Vanessa posted a story. In one of the frames there's someone reflected in the corner of a glossy tabletop, half a face, unmistakably Alex's jawline. Champagne flutes, a plate of fries, almost midnight by the timestamp. The description, work hard, play hard, agency life. I know it's possible even likely to misinterpret, but the world spins more tightly yet looser at the same time. I am watching my life from outside, seeing only silhouettes and half-droofs. I book myself a massage, thinking physical calm might or not my nerves. The therapist asks politely if I'm under stress, and I nearly break down just from the question. At Sarah's birthday I brace for anything.

47:11The dinner is at a hot house small plates place in Pilsen, everyone in high spirits, cocktails sloshing, laughter bubbling loud enough to blur the world. Alex promised he'd be there, even RSVP'd, but as we order he texts, sorry, client emergency, I try to fake a smile. Vanessa isn't there, but Sarah's boyfriend mentions off handedly how Alex is always grabbing late drinks with that hot-chot strategist. What's her deal? I freeze mid-bite, managing only to ask, is that happening a lot. He shrugs, maybe she's funny I guess, always talking shop kind of inescapable. He's not privy to the undercurrents just the surface ripples. In the lift home I don't open my phone. I stare out the window as rain streaks the neon and think about all the days that looked right on paper but felt wrong in my skin. I try old spells, planning Sunday brunch, suggesting movie marathons, baking the lemon

48:12cake he loves. None of its sticks. Alex shows up when he does with an apologetic smile, always with an explanation, always tired, always splitting himself between here and somewhere else. Thursday something subtle shifts. Alex is home by seven, fiddling with the coffee machine for once making real conversation. He suggests we get take out, watch an old favourite. It's almost normal I let my guard down just enough to laugh. Before bed he sits beside me on the couch, hands folded and says softly, I know things have been weird, I'm really sorry. He doesn't elaborate, I search his face for more, remorse, fear, confession, but whatever it is tux itself out of sight. Later that night I can't sleep. I pad into the living room, curl on the window seat, watch the city pulse blue and pink under clouds. I think about the evening, about how sometimes you get just enough to convince yourself to stay in uncertainty. It's easier, safer, less final. But uncertainty multiplies.

49:14Friday morning his phone buzzes with a calendar alert I catch over his shoulder, strategy recap, Montrose House 9.30pm. He doesn't see me notice, slips the phone away, barely pausing before muttering about late calls again. Do you want company, I can meet you after, you but you back if you get held up. I say it lightly, but my heart's racing. He startled quick to dismiss, won't finish till late, I'll probably crash at bends if it goes long, don't wait up. I nod but I already know, bends out of town for a wedding, the lie comes too easily. This is Steve Covino from Covino and Rich. Alright, quick round of trivia before we get back into the show. But we're doing it differently this time. Every guy listening right now, you're contestant, no buzzers, no calling in, just answer honestly to yourself. Here we go. You got a belly and a little chest that won't go away no matter what you try. Gasped by the middle of the afternoon, no drive left in the tank, and lastly you lack

50:16that confidence in mental edge. Fellas here's the thing, those are classic signs that your testosterone has been sliding and nothing drags it down faster than extra weight. The good news, emerging research suggests that getting rid of it may actually be more effective than TRT. So why not take matters into your own hands? Strip off the weight that tanks your testosterone with Bioma GLP1 booster. Every serving is packed with science back and third party tested ingredients that crank up your natural GLP1 production. So you can enjoy a leaner physique, surging energy and increased drive. The Bioma.Health slash GLP1 and use code CR Show to get 15% off your first order. That's Bioma.Health slash GLP1 code CR Show for 15% off. This is Troy Millens from Earn Your Leisure. On Earn Your Leisure we're all about smart money moves and here's one most people skip and it starts with insureify. Most of us never shop our car insurance. The policy renews every year, the rate creeps up a little at a time and nobody calls you

51:17to tell you. You stay with the same company because it's easy and that convenience costs you real money. That's what insureify fixes. Real quotes for more than 120 top insurance companies side by side. About two minutes free, no phone calls, no pressure. And if there's nothing better for you right now, insureify keeps watching and tells you when that changes so you're never stuck over paying. Millions of people have used insureify to shop for their car insurance. So insure with insureify. Go to insureify.com. That's INSUR. IFY.com. Insureify.com. This is Matt Rogers from Los Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. This is Bowen Yang from Los Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. You know when people try a new food and suddenly it's like, wait. That's the reaction. A lot of people are having when they first try QB Mayo. It's the one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. You've probably seen it in the grocery store before. And if you've ever just walked past it, some people would say that's a huge mistake.

52:17Because this mayo is different. Most mayonnaise uses whole eggs. QB only uses egg yolks, which gives it this rich umami flavor. It's smoother, deeper, and almost buttery. Once people try it, they start putting it on everything. Egg sandwiches, fries, burgers, some fans even swear by dipping pizza crust in it. And once you notice it, you start seeing it everywhere. Chefs use it. Restaurants use it. People who really care about flavor use it. Never try it, grab the bottle with the red cap next time you're out of the store. Put it on just about anything, then you'll understand. QB, the original Japanese mayonnaise. When night falls, rain starts again, steady down the glass. I sit in the half lit living room, the city flattening behind shears and try to read but can't. I text Ben needing confirmation. You in town tonight, Alex said he might crash with you. Ben replies quick, out in Michigan for the weekend, sorry, you guys okay. I type and delete several responses, then just send.

53:18All good have fun. I feel panic crawl over my skin. The next hour's blur. I check socials, stare out the window, walk circles across the rug. Close to midnight, Alex returns, startling me in the kitchen. He's flushed, wind blown, too much cologne mixing with rain. He kisses my cheek, then says, as if reading a script, long night, I'm exhausted. No you told me not to but I grabbed a drink with the team, needed to decompress. I nod, watching him unpack nothing but his charger and a crumpled receipt from a cab. The next day I find that receipt and smooth it out on the kitchen counter. Drop off, orchard and burwin. Know any of Ben's place, know any of the agency. I google it and address for Hotel Lane, a boutique place with a reputation for low key luxury. My skin prickles. I call Casey my voice small. I need you to be honest, has anything ever felt wrong about Alex and Vanessa to you,

54:20even a vibe. A pause then. Lately, yeah I mean maybe. He sits by her laughs a lot in meetings. They left together after happy hour last Thursday. I just thought, work friends. Did you see anything I should know about? Anything not just work. Another pause this one longer. It was late. I was leaving and I saw them hug by the bar before getting in a cab. Could be nothing, could be something I honestly don't know. I sink onto my bed, heart thumping, vision tunneling. I want to cry, want to scream, but can only stare at the ceiling. That night every small thing is loud. The creek of pipes, the sigh of the fridge, my own breathing uneven as I listen to Alex's snore oblivious. The pieces refuse to click together, but they fit just enough to leave no room for sunlight. I lay awake until dawn, imagining a hundred possible explanations, none of them innocent enough to really believe.

55:21By Sunday I'm a ghost in my own kitchen. I make eggs, clean counters that aren't dirty, rearrange drawers for no reason. Alex drifts through, searching for a mug. Once some coffee, I ask, voice chipper rehearsed. He nods, sits, scrolls his phone. We move around each other without speaking for a full five minute. Finally, he looks up, hey you okay, you seem off. I want to say you think I'm off, but instead I swallow, try to sound neutral, just tired of rain I guess. He nods sagely as if weather explains everything. After he leaves I open my laptop and go through his open tabs. There, a jeech at window with Vanessa mostly work chatter, but at the top a pinned message, Thursday 11, 47pm, great talking. Thanks for listening tonight. You always know what to say. No reply from Alex in this view, but the intimacy is unmistakable, more candid than anything

56:22we've shared these past weeks. My hands shake as I close the tab. In that moment I feel every atom in my body harden a line. I gather all the receipts, the calendar screenshots, the credit card charges, pile them into digital folders, color coding by date by place by lie. I sit at the living room window, sunlight stretching across the hardwood, and wait for night to fall, for answers to become undeniable. But when the sun dips below the skyline, all I feel is cold resolve, and a strange emptiness as if my own life is waiting for permission to be lived again. Night falls around me quietly, thick as felt, the apartment cast in long shadows from the single lamp above the game shelf. I don't bother to pretend at sleep. My whole back aches from leaning at the window, mind thundering with the images of calendar entries and receipts burnt behind my eyes. I feel as though I've stepped out of my own skin and left her behind, some grinning woman

57:23playing hostess, sealing up leftover cheese after friends have gone home. Alex is asleep in the next room, his breath a shallow, even rise and fall. I listen for any change, a cough, a shift, a mutter that might mean he's awake and turning toward me, but it's all level indifferent. I can't look at him, I can't move toward the bed. I'm rocked between cold anger and a sorrow too shapeless to hold. By four in the morning the city's night traffic disappears and there's only the buzz of the refrigerator, the creek of the old radiator, and my own heartbeat in the hush. I rub my palms together, open his laptop again, and take photos of the calendar screen with my phone. Each block with Vanessa's name, the proof of absence now preserved. It makes me feel steadier or maybe just more hollow. He wakes before seven, shuffling into the kitchen still in boxes, squinting against the light. Did you not sleep? He rubs his eyes, voice raspy.

58:24I thought you'd come in after your shows. Didn't feel like it, I mumble, pouring myself coffee. I don't look at him. I picture receipts and Google maps and Vanessa's smile, the message at midnight. Thanks for listening to night. You always know what to say. He hovers by the fridge, uncertain. We do in eggs. There's a bland normality in his voice, as if we're on the other side of a mild disagreement, not marooned on opposite cliffs. I can't answer. I put my mug in the sink and say I have to get to work early. My keys jacket and bag all clang together in my hands. I pull the door shut behind me, walking into a blast of cold, tasting exhaustion. By noon my inbox has stacked into a wall of red flags and flagged to-dos, but I keep glancing at my phone. Every half hour I reread Casey's texts and Ben's hesitant summary. I keep one tab open to a map of Montrose House, zooming in on every angle as if I can spot

59:25some detail I missed, some proof of innocence or more likely, final confirmation. At lunch I step outside, phone pressed to my ear, voice cracking. Can you meet up after work? I ask Casey. Just for a walk maybe. She doesn't ask why. Just says yes, her voice soft as tissue. Where should I meet you? We walk the length of the river, the autumn wind biting my cheeks, my hands numb from holding the proofs in my coat pocket. Casey listens, doesn't interrupt. We circle the block four times before she says, you don't have to confront him alone, you know, I'm here. I nod and she hugs me hard. The warmth of her arms is a relief, but it's not comfort. The hole inside me is too wide, too cold. That night home is colder still. I push the receipts and calendar photos into a single folder, print the most damning ones and slide them into an envelope. Each action feels like a rehearsal for something final, something inevitable as rain.

1:00:30Alex is home early, tripping over the mat, old energy in his voice. Pete's a night, feels like a Friday, even if it is. He leans to kiss my cheek and I flinch, stepping away, he senses it instantly. What's wrong, are you sick? Your whiter's a sheet. I shake my head, wordless, and he withdraws, concerned darkening his features. He asks if I want to talk, if I'm mad, if I'm working too hard. Each question is a num echo, barely reaching me. I barely sleep. By morning I know the only way forward is through. No more half conversations, no more polite requests for context. I need to look directly at whatever's left between us and torture way the artifice. I spend my train ride to work rehearsing every word I might say. All day I'm underwater. My team picks up my slack, sliding files across the table, murmuring little jokes that don't land. I call Sarah, then hang up before she answers, too afraid to hear truth or comfort.

1:01:33Like Sensor Text, home early, let me know if you want pad tie. Octopus emoji as if nothing has changed. At five I walk the quiet blocks home on legs so heavy they feel made of salt. I let myself inquietly and find him at the dining table, laptop open, blue light flickering across his anxious face. He looks up, smile tight, sensing everything is wrong. We need to talk, I say, voice thread bare. I unravel the envelope, laying receipts one by one on the table, calm as a surgeon. I name the bars the dates the times. I show him the calendar entries, the credit card slips, the text from Ben. For weeks I've tried to believe you, I say quietly voice rough. But none of this makes sense unless there's something you're not telling me, I need the truth, not half of it, all of it, who is venessor to you, why did you lie? He shakes his eyes dart from the receipts to my face, then away.

1:02:34A flush creeps up his neck, he presses his lips together, the muscles in his jaw working. For a moment I see him on the edge of denial, ready to laugh it off or call me paranoid, but the evidence between us is too plain. He leans back, breath shaking. God, Kristen, he drags his fingers through his hair swallows. It's not what it looks like, he starts. I cut him off my own voice trembling. Alex, I've waited so long for an answer, I need it now, did you cheat on me? His mouth opens, then closes. His eyes are glossy, bloodshot. He picks up the receipt, turns it over, and sets it down shakily. He tries deflection first. It was never meant to be anything, she's new. She started asking about the Peterson campaign, we put in stupid hours together. He stops shaken then size. It started as just work. She'd ask about the job, about the city, I thought, I don't know, I thought I was helping.

1:03:37I stare, you don't cancel game night for someone you're helping. You don't take her to that bar, that hotel lounge. You didn't tell me, you lied to me every night. He hides his face in his hands, palms pressing into his eye sockets, muffled. Jesus, Kristen. He sit in silence while rain starts up again, drops pinging off the window sill, each second stretching. When he looks at me again, there's a crack in him, something close to frightened honesty. It wasn't physical, not at first. We talked. She'd ask about you about the agency, there was a night after Archers Place. We were both drunk, the campaign was tanking. We went to the bar at Montrose House. I swear I was thinking about work about you about how I was screwing things up. He kissed me first, just kissed me that's all it was, but after that it escalated, there was one night, just once, but I didn't stop talking to her afterwards. My hands go ice-gold, I press my palms together, my wedding ring biting into my skin.

1:04:39Wend! He wipes his eyes, voice a croak, almost a month ago I slept on Ben's couch that night, or said I did. I nod, staring. Are you in love with her? She shakes his head desperately then hesitates. No, I mean, no, she listened. It felt like I mattered like nothing was already decided. Work, S. Bean Hell, I started feeling like you didn't really need me. My voice cuts sharper than I expect, so you looked for someone who did, you chose someone who didn't know all your edges yet. He looks at me wounded, voice small. Kristen, I'm sorry, I kept telling myself it wasn't anything that I could get past it, not ruin us, I don't even know if she wanted more, I'm so ashamed. Are you still seeing her, I ask, breath's livery. He's silenced so long the clock changes. No, not since I realized you knew something was up, I stopped, I cut it off, we're barely

1:05:40talking now just about the project. So this is supposed to make it okay, my voice starts to break. You built all these lies just to have me keep trusting you. He crumples into the chair, face slack, swaying between shame and a horrified self-pity I can't respect. I didn't want to lose you, I just got lost, I never meant. But you did, you lied, Alex, you lied for weeks and made me feel like I was making it up. He collapses, nose red, hands trembling between us. My anger when it comes is clean and cold. You have to leave, I need you out, I need to breathe. She chokes out a protest, but I'm already upstairs, stuffing clothes and toiletries into a weak-end bag, hands shaking so badly that mascara rolls off the dresser, scattering under the bed. I call Casey as I zip the bag, I need to stay, maybe for a few days. She doesn't even pause, I'll put out fresh towels, you want me to pick you up.

1:06:44I say no, I can get there myself. When I go back downstairs, Alex is pacing, eyes red. He tries to block the door but I sidestep him, keys in hand. Please talk to me, Kristen, I'll do anything, he pleads, voice breaking. I can't talk to you, not now, maybe not for a long time. I push past, slinging the bag onto my shoulder, teeth chattering with adrenaline and rage. The hallway smells of last night's cooking and wet wool. I press the elevator button with my elbow, unable to look back. The door closes between us, cutting off his voice as he calls my name. This is Steve Covino from Covino and Rich. Alright, quick round of trivia before we get back into the show. But we're doing it differently this time. Every guy listening right now, you're contestant, no buzzers, no calling in, just answer honestly to yourself. Here we go. You got a belly and a little chest that won't go away no matter what you try. Just by the middle of the afternoon, no drive left in the tank and lastly you lack that

1:07:48confidence in mental edge. Fellowes, here's the thing. Those are classic signs that your testosterone has been sliding and nothing drags it down faster than extra weight. The good news? Emerging research suggests that getting rid of it may actually be more effective than TRT. So why not take matters into your own hands? Strip off the weight that tanks your testosterone with Bioma GLP1 booster. Every serving is packed with science back and third party tested ingredients that crank up your natural GLP1 production. So you can enjoy a leaner physique, surging energy and increased drive. Visit bioma.health slash GLP1 and use code CR Show to get 15% off your first order. That's bioma.health slash GLP1 code CR Show for 15% off. This is Troy Millins from Earn Your Leisure. From Earn Your Leisure we're all about smart money moves and here's one most people skip and it starts with insureify. Most of us never shop our car insurance. The policy renews every year, the rate creeps up a little at a time and nobody calls you

1:08:49to tell you. You stay with the same company because it's easy and that convenience costs you real money. That's what insureify fixes. Real quotes from more than 120 top insurance companies side by side. About two minutes free, no phone calls, no pressure. And if there's nothing better for you right now, insureify keeps watching and tells you when that changes so you're never stuck over paying. Millions of people have used insureify to shop for their car insurance. So insure with insureify. Go to insureify.com. That's INSUR. IFY.com. Insureify.com. This is Matt Rogers from Lost Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. This is Bowen Yang from Lost Culturistas with Matt Rogers and Bowen Yang. You know when people try a new food and suddenly it's like, wait. That's the reaction. A lot of people are having when they first try QB Mayo. It's the one with the red cap and the little baby on the bottle. You've probably seen it in the grocery store before. And if you've ever just walked past it, some people would say that's a huge mistake.

1:09:49Because this mayo is different. Most mayonnaise uses whole eggs. QB only uses egg yolks, which gives it this rich umami flavor. It's smoother, deeper, and almost buttery. As people try it, they start putting it on everything. Examages, fries, burgers, some fans even swear by dipping pizza crust in it. And once you notice it, you start seeing it everywhere. Chefs use it, restaurants use it. People who really care about flavor use it. Never try it. Grab the bottle with the red cap next time you're at the store. Put it on just about anything. Then you'll understand. QB, the original Japanese mayonnaise. Down on the street, the world is the same as it always is at night. Clipery with drizzle, headlights sliding along the boulevard. I fumble for my phone, texting Casey in a haze. On the train, I watch the city blur by. The familiar skyline now a coroner's report for the life I knew. At Casey's, she swaddles me in an oversized sweatshirt, puts on the kettle, and lets me cry until my throat burns. I tell her only fragments, enough to explain, not enough to invite pity.

1:10:54She offers the guest bed, pulls out spare sheets with jokes half whispered. But I can't touch laughter yet. I can only curl fetal scrolling old texts from Alex. Each emoji now hollow, each inside Joker cruel echo. Back in our old apartment, I picture him sitting among the empty takeout boxes, every bored game sealed and forgotten on the shelf. I wonder if he is calling Vanessa or Ben or no one at all. I wonder if he's relieved or only afraid. There is no good way to answer the questions piling inside me. How did I not see? Where did I go wrong? What is mine to own? I know the answers are not clean. I know, somewhere faint but stubborn, that none of this is excused by stress or neglect. The only certainty is the emptiness left by all the careful lies. Hours later, when the city is quiet and the radiate a nox like distant thunder, I scroll to our wedding photos and stare at the certainty in our faces.

1:11:55I slide the phone silent, hands aching from clutching it too hard. My body gives out at last. I sleep, but even my dreams taste of loss, a kind of grieving that flares over and over as the night turns. When dawn spreads thin light behind the blinds, I dress in borrowed leggings and thick socks, my hair in a hasty knot. I step out onto Casey's tiny balcony, mug of coffee warming my palms, Chicago just waking up in shades of silver and coral. Cars curl around the corner below. I brace myself against the railing and breath, trying to fill the hollow with air. Inside, I pack the essentials I'll need for a few days. Phone, charger, wallet. From the things Casey loaned me, then fold my old jeans and sweaters into a neat stack beside the bed. Every act of tidying is small, deliberate, a momentary reassurance that some order can be re-established, however superficial. Alex texts in the morning a string of six messages, apologies desperate questions, promises

1:12:59to make this work. I let the phone buzz, the sound muffled under a sweater. Each vibration savers my stomach. I say nothing. I owe him nothing not now. At lunch, Casey offers to make pasta. I help quiet, hands working automatic through the motions, grateful for work that requires no thought. We eat at a kitchen island, sunlight coming in at a fresh angle and don't mention him again. I consider calling my mother, but stop, too much explanation, too much history stacked at my back. I keep moving in slow increments, shower, clean dishes, answer only the simplest of work emails on my laptop. I don't check our group chat. I can't yet stand the chorus of well-meaning jokes, the inside jokes and questions. The world narrows to this new, thin margin, what I know, what I don't know, and what I will never be given. The sky shifts to dusk, lengthening the shadows on Casey's living room rug.

1:14:00She works softly at the far end of the room, headphones on, giving me space punctuated by her presence alone. When my appetite flickers back, I rummage for a snack and stare at a magnet on Casey's fridge. Trust is built in drops and lost in buckets. It makes me want to scream, then laugh, then forget. Each hour without Alex's voice feels both raw and medicinal. There is pain, a razor-edged loss that can't be named or numbed. But underneath a thin seam of resolve is forming, as real as bone knitting under a cast, unknown numbers recalibrating behind every plan for the future. I look out at the city again, another couple sloshing coffee as they walk the morning block, the papery sound of newspapers, dogs pulling at leashes. Chicago keeps living indifferent. My phone will not stop with the missed call chimes, but I don't answer. I breathe, taste the air, and realize I'm not waiting for Alex anymore, not for answers,

1:15:03not for apologies that always come too late. The gap he left narrows half an inch, made firmer by decision and time. I step inside, brush the hair from my eyes, and flip the phone face down on the table. A gesture so small and so final that something in me releases. I pour out the cold coffee, rinse the mug, and start to think about what needs to be done next on my terms this time. I start making a mental list. What I'll need from the apartment if I don't go back soon charges, the spare winter boots tucked behind the umbrella stand, one favorite sweater from the bottom drawer. My passport. Not because I have anywhere to go, but because I suddenly don't trust anything to be where I last left it. It's a silly impulse, entirely defensive, the kind that crops up when you don't know what else to own except a pile of tangible, reschedulable logistics. I look at Casey working at the table and try to imagine telling her I'll need to make a visit just for things, but she's doing that sacred thing best friends do, occupying

1:16:08space nearby but not pressing. Later I hear a soft knock on the guest room door. Casey peeks in, eyes flickering and says, do you want company for the first retrieval? Not asking whether just when. She doesn't need an answer. She exchange looks and she grabs her keys from a bowl shaped like a smiling cactus by the door. I pull on a coat, hands jammed deep in the pockets. My mouth is dry as we take the short drive over, neither of us talking. My chest tightens on the ride and I realize how many bridges you burn just by saying you need your own pillow again. The building is a little different in daylight than it is in rain. One, S propped open the front doors to hall boxes in new neighbours, maybe, or just another person moving out as lives divide and recalculate. In the elevator, Casey hums something under her breath, off key, a patch of warmth in the sterile pores between floors. I reach for her hand, squeeze it, and she squeezes back, startling enough that I blink back

1:17:11tears I thought I'd exhausted last night. On our floor the hall is too bright, I unlock the apartment, my apartment our apartment and step into the living room the silence is new loaded. No shoes scattered in the entry, mail neatly stacked for once the couch throw folded, almost like he's already begun erasing evidence of togetherness, a sick sort of hospitality. Alex isn't inside, I realize I should have checked when he'd be at work, I'd assumed hoped he'd want to avoid this scene too, but the clatter of a mug in the kitchen sends me taught. He's standing by the counter still in yesterday's jeans hair rumpled face shadowy, the two of us freeze, Casey hovers by the door giving the pretence of distraction by fiddling with her phone. Kristen, he tries my name, once bright now a tremble. I set about opening the hall closet and stacking my things, avoiding eye contact, moving brisk. I want efficiency, no conversation, nothing except finish and get out.

1:18:15I didn't think you'd come by so soon, he says carefully voice hollow. You left me little reason to stay away longer, I reply, my chest twisting with the effort to sound calm. He seems about to speak lips parted but I shake my head, not here, not now please. Casey intercepts a box of shoes, taking the excuse to ferry it to the hall. I head to the bedroom grabbing a duffel and sweeping in what matters, a handful of clothes, a charger, spare socks, my journal, a battered stack of fiction. I see the photo still standing on the dresser, one from Friendsgiving, another from our first trip to Michigan years ago. I leave them there. Their weight is too much to carry and I don't want anything that smells like a lie. By the time I press past him in the hall, arms full, Alex has folded onto the edge of the dining chair. His head is in his hands, his spine a single drawn wire. Do you want anything else, he asks horse?

1:19:17Not today, I answer, too tired for venom, maybe I'll message if I need more. In three trips between apartment and car, nothing else is said. I don't allow it, and Casey's presence is a blanket over the chill. When we're back at her place, she disappears into her office, leaving me to unpack in silence. I line things up in ordered piles, sweaters, jeans, toiletries, it's the illusion of control, an arrangement of surfaces to contain chaos underneath. Around mid afternoon Sarah texts, her words spill out first as routine, can you believe this weather, but five lines in she softens, Alex called. He said things are bad, he didn't say why, are you safe, do you want to talk? Her concern is both bar and burn. For the first time I realize word as spread, our mutual friends woven into everything will start to ask, tipsy with wine or bold with sympathy what happened.

1:20:18People will want a narrative and answer. I stare at the message, typing and deleting, I'm okay, can't talk yet, I might not be for a while. Messages keep arriving, some I ignore, some I answer with the briefest okay busy, will catch up later. Which one is a reminder of the intertwined life I am trying to peel away from, not surgically, but splinter by splinter? Evening descends with slow certainty. Casey heats up soup, we eat in the living room, the TV low, our conversation floating between neutral territory, the sorry state of Chicago transit, whether the new bakery is overrated. I listen but do not hear, my mind drifting to Alex with his head in his hands, the hurt I glimpsed and the anger I have no room to nurse. When I finally excuse myself, retreating to the guest bed, I reel from the magnitude of what's been lost, the safety of an ordinary Tuesday night, the reflex of a shared smile after a bad day, even the expectation that someone will text on the walk home.

1:21:22It all feels alien, untouchable. I turn the ring on my finger, backward and forward, wishing I could simply decide to stop feeling. But something strange begins even in the depth of exhaustion, a thin awareness that the future, whatever its shape, is mine to claim from here. The flavors are raw and bitter, but there is a power in not having to wait for someone else's choice. I wake at three in the morning, unsure at first of where I am. The unfamiliar hush tells me this is not home, not anymore. My first impulse is to check my phone to see if Alex has reached out again. I resist. I lie in the dark, staring at the ceiling and let the realisation sink in. There is no more script, no more spinning explanations. By morning everything inside me is sore. I lids swollen, jaw tense, throat tight. I dress in borrowed things and pad barefoot to the balcony again. The sky is clear for once. The city stretched bright and insistent around me, not waiting to be understood.

1:22:26There, with the hum of traffic below and the chill cutting through my sleeves, reality narrows to its simplest form. There is the pain of breaking, a clean wound, not stitched or muted. There is the absence of answers that will never satisfy. There is also a single clear notion. I will not go back. I press the backs of my hands to the railing, closing my eyes as the sun pulls bronze up the east edge of the skyline. The ache remains deep and personal, but beneath it a coil of something like resolve twists tighter holding me upright. When I step inside I set my phone on the nightstand, ignoring the new tide of unread notifications Alex's name bobbing at the top. I pick up the bag I packed and take out one shirt setting it on a chair. Then I close the curtains gently as if to ward off the past. For the first time in weeks I sit with the emptiness and feel no urge to fill it, not with explanations, not with apologies, not even with hope.

1:23:29The day is mine and whatever I do next will belong to me alone. And that is the end. Thank you for listening and I will see you in the next one. This is Steve Kovino from Kovino and Rich. Quick trivia fellas, every guy listening is contestant. Answer honestly to yourself. You got a belly in a little chest, gassed by the afternoon, no drive left in the tank, you lack that confidence and mental edge. Those are classic signs that your testosterone has been sliding and nothing drags it down faster than extra weight. So why not take matters into your own hands? Shrip off the weight that tanks your testosterone with Bioma, GLP1 booster. Be serving as packed with science, packed ingredients that crank up your natural GLP1 production. Visit bioma.health slash GLP1 and use code CRShow for 15% off your first order. This is Rick Burgess from The Rick Burgess Show.

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1:25:29Epglyce can be used with or without topical corticosteroids. Don't use if you are allergic to Epglyce. Allergic reactions can occur that can be severe. I problems can occur. Tell your doctor if you have newer worsening eye problems, you should not receive a live vaccine when treated with Epglyce. Before starting Epglyce, tell your doctor if you have a parasitic infection. Paid partnership with Lili Respect your time. Ask your doctor about Epglyce and visit Epglyce.com or call 1-800-LiliRX or 1-800-545-5979.