“So…there is no easy way to say this. I know you’re married. I know we are co-workers. But I’ve had feelings for a long time for you,” Brett says as he sheepishly stares at his white sneakers.

My jaw drops open. My face flushes. He glances up at me, and we make eye contact. I feel my heart stop. My whole world stops. Brett? My calm in a sea of chaos. My therapist. My happy hour partner. The highlight of my day. I think back to the snide remarks my husband has made over the years about Brett and I. It never truly seemed to be about jealousy. Just simple sarcastic comments occasionally about my “work husband” or inside jokes.

I need to say something. Anything. But I stare at him like a fish with a hook stuck in its mouth. I force myself to pick my jaw up off of the floor. But still…no words come out. I’ve never been excused of being quiet and somehow, now, I can’t find any words.

After what seems like ages (which is in reality probably only 1-2 minutes), Brett mercifully speaks.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t expect you to say anything. Or do anything. I just needed to tell you that. It was at the point where there was no choice but to tell you.”

He squeezes my shoulder in a comforting guessture, something he’s done a million time. I reflexively flinch. This time, it doesn’t feel comforting. It seems almost like an assault.

“Cara, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just needed to tell you and expect nothing from you.”

I nod at him as I look up and finally make eye contact. Tears start pouring down my face as I quickly turn on my heel and walk out of the door. I manage to discretely glance back and see Brett looking at his shoes, shoulders slumped. I literally bump into our boss, Brian.

Brian smiles, “Hi Cara. Interested in grabbing a quick drink after work with Brett and I?” His smiles dissipates suddenly when he sees my face.

“Oh Cara, what’s wrong? I’m so sorry.”

“No, it’s fine. I’m sorry. How unprofessional. I just need to leave. Family emergency,” I sputter as I head for the elevator.

I jab the button impatiently, praying it will come so I can get on. I feel a tap on my shoulder, and without looking, I know it’s him. I turn slowly.

It is, of course, Brett. To my shock and horror, he has tears in his eyes as well. He is handing me my bag and coat.

“I didn’t think you could get into your car without these. It’s the least I could do,” he says. We stop and just stare at each other.

“Ahem,” Brian coughs, standing next to us. “Family emergency? My guess is he finally confessed, huh? It’s about time.”

I don’t know who looks more shocked: me or Brett.