No More Handyman: His Last Stand

and clinking glasses. This was supposed to be a celebration for Brittan

ampagne flute. She looked radiant, her smile wide and confide

redible support and vision of my team," sh

software engineer, her live-in boyfriend, and her personal handyman. I built the code that was the entire foundation

ng a small, stupid surge of pride for her, e

ght was

beside me. My stomach felt hollow, but not from hunger. It was a feeling of emp

ce of creative inspiration," Brittany continued, her eyes scanning the roo

't written a hit song in a decade, but he carried himself like a rock star. Brittany had been supporting him financially for years,

expensive suits, smiled politely. They didn't know the history. They just saw a charismatic founde

all circle that had formed around them. "Brittany has the

im, a look she hadn'

she declared, r

rank, not like friends toasting a company, but like two people sharing a private, intimate secret in a

en telling me to leave Brittany. "She's using you, Sean," she' d say. "She doesn't respect you." I

ey nev

hest was gone. In its place was a strange, cold calm. It was like watching a scene from a movie, and I was just an audie

e that needed attention. I looked over at Brittany, still wrapped

econd, her expression flat, and then immediately turned back to laugh at something Dylan whispered in her ear. She didn

ix her server. I wasn't going to

the front door. I just wanted to get out, to breathe air

ere are y

a woman named Jessica. She blocked

getting started. Y

mug little smirk on his face, a look of victory. He though

k to do," I said

ted, grabbing my arm. "Brittan

ious to me again, completely captivated by Dylan. Sad?

my arm away from

oice quiet but fir

dn't look back, the sound of