Chapter 1

The smell of pine from the Christmas tree lot next door usually got me thinking about our annual ski trip. Thanksgiving was the kickoff. This year, it was supposed to be Aspen. Fresh powder, cozy lodge, no work talk.

Then Sophia called.

"Mike, honey, disaster."

Her voice was tight, the CEO voice. Not my wife's.

"Server's fried. The main one for 'Odyssey.' I have to stay. Handle it."

"Fried? How?" I kept my own voice level. I'd built that server architecture. It wasn't supposed to just 'fry.'

"Doesn't matter how. It just is. I'm so sorry, baby. We'll do Aspen another time."

Click.

Another time. Right.

The turkey sat uncooked in the fridge. My appetite vanished.

I scrolled through Instagram, a mindless habit.

Then I saw it. Caleb Yang's story.

Our star intern. Young, slick, always a little too eager.

The video was shaky, clearly self-shot. Sophia was in the frame, wearing a clunky VR headset, flailing her arms. She looked ridiculous.

She, who once called me for help because the Keurig was "making a weird noise."

The background: a plainly decorated room, a banner half-visible: "Montana Community Outreach."

Caleb's caption popped up: "So grateful to have a mentor like Sophia! Personally guiding our VR project for underprivileged kids in my hometown. #Blessed #Community #GamingForGood"

His hometown. Montana.

Not our studio's server room.

A cold laugh escaped me.

I tapped the heart icon. Then the comment bubble.

"Immersive experience. Very 'professional'."

I hit send.

My phone buzzed almost immediately. Not Sophia. The studio's Slack.

The #general channel lit up like a damn pinball machine.

Screenshots of Caleb's post. Screenshots of my comment.

"LOL, Mike's savage."

"Uh oh, trouble in paradise?"

"Is that... Montana? I thought Sophia was wrestling servers?"

The vultures were circling.

Then Sophia's name flashed on my screen.

I let it ring twice before answering.

"What the hell, Mike?"

Her voice was ice.

"What was that comment supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what it said. Looked professional."

"You think this is funny? You're embarrassing Caleb. He's showing initiative. He comes from a poor family in Montana, trying to give back. I'm helping him. Is that a crime?"

Poor family. Right. The kid wore a new pair of Yeezys every other week.

"And you," she continued, her voice rising, "you, who had everything handed to you, wouldn't understand trying to help someone less fortunate."

My jaw tightened. She knew nothing about what was handed to me, or what wasn't.

"Delete the comment. Now. And I'll make this up to you. Next holiday, I promise."

Next holiday.

The words echoed the earlier "another time."

I felt something snap. Quietly. Inside.

"No," I said.

"What did you say?"

"I said no."

I ended the call.

My thumb hovered over her contact. Then pressed 'Block.'

The Thanksgiving turkey could rot for all I cared.

The server in my empty dining room dinged. My pre-ordered dinner for two.

"Just one tonight," I told the app.

The silence in the apartment was a relief.