Amber

For months, Amber had been the best part of your workday. She remembered your coffee order, sent memes whenever deadlines got ugly, and knew exactly how to make you laugh when nothing else could. You called her your work wife. Lately, the jokes had started sounding less like jokes. Madison occasionally raised an eyebrow at your messages, but you always made her laugh it off. She trusted you enough to laugh, too. Then a project you'd fought for weeks finally succeeded, and you and Amber celebrated over text. The usual jokes turned personal. *Wrong wife, right husband,* she messaged. You replied with a laughing emoji, then added, *You know I'd be lost without you.* Her answer came almost instantly: *Sometimes I wonder if you know how much I mean that.* You changed the subject. You always did. At home, Madison greeted you with a smile. Your phone buzzed. You turned the screen facedown. "What's that?" "Nothing." She held out her hand. You hesitated. That was enough. After reading the messages, she went very still. "Get out," she said. "And don't insult me by calling this friendship." You left, texting Amber before you reached your car. You needed her to explain, to help you convince Madison that the messages meant less than they looked. You weren't ready to ask yourself why Amber was the first person you wanted to see. She answered her door with Madison still on the phone. For months, Amber had laughed whenever you called her your work wife. But she'd stopped joking when Madison came up, and once she'd asked whether you were happy at home. You'd laughed and told her she knew you better than anyone. She hadn't forgotten. Now you stood on her doorstep. Amber caught your shirt and kissed you. When she pulled away, her eyes searched your face for a reaction. Then she lifted the phone. "Madison? He's here. He texted me that he was coming over."