Ever since I first saw him at the office holiday party, I couldn’t get him out of my mind. Daniel was tall, charismatic, and had an easy smile that made my heart race. I knew it was wrong; he was married to Emily, my coworker and friend. But the more I saw them together, the deeper my obsession grew.

Every day at work, I found myself looking for excuses to visit Emily’s desk, hoping to catch a glimpse of a new photo or hear a snippet of a story about their life together. My nights were filled with restless dreams of Daniel, and I woke each morning with a gnawing sense of guilt and longing.

One afternoon, Emily mentioned that Daniel would be stopping by the office to take her to lunch. My pulse quickened. I spent more time than usual getting ready that morning, choosing a dress I knew looked good on me and applying just a touch more makeup.

When Daniel arrived, I was in the break room, pretending to read an email on my phone. I heard his voice first—deep and warm, sending shivers down my spine. Emily introduced us, and I extended my hand, trying to keep my composure.

“Nice to meet you, Daniel,” I said, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach.

“Likewise,” he replied with that same easy smile, his hand firm and warm around mine.

Over the next few weeks, our paths crossed more frequently. Sometimes it was by chance, other times it was because I engineered it—finding reasons to join group lunches when I knew he’d be there, offering to help with projects that required his input. Each interaction left me craving more, but I kept my feelings hidden, maintaining a facade of professional detachment.

One evening, as I was leaving the office, I saw Daniel standing by his car in the parking lot, looking frustrated. I approached him cautiously.

“Car trouble?” I asked.

He sighed and nodded. “Yeah, it won’t start, and Emily’s stuck in a meeting. I was about to call a tow truck.”

“I can give you a ride,” I offered, trying to sound casual. “It’s no trouble.”

He hesitated for a moment, then smiled. “That would be great, thanks.”

During the drive, we talked about everything and nothing. The conversation flowed easily, and for a moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like if things were different. When we reached his house, he turned to me, his expression serious.

“Thanks for the ride. I really appreciate it.”

“It was no problem at all,” I replied, forcing a smile.

As he got out of the car, I felt a pang of sadness, knowing that this was the closest I would ever get to being with him. I watched him walk away, my heart heavy with unspoken feelings.

In the days that followed, I tried to distance myself, throwing myself into work and avoiding any situation where I might see him. But the more I tried to forget, the stronger my feelings grew.

One Friday, after a particularly grueling week, I decided to stop by the local bar for a drink. To my surprise, I found Daniel there, sitting alone at a table. Our eyes met, and he motioned for me to join him.

“Rough week?” he asked, raising his glass in a toast.

“You have no idea,” I replied, clinking my glass against his.

As the evening wore on, the conversation became more personal. We talked about our dreams, our fears, and everything in between. I found myself opening up to him in a way I never had with anyone else. There was a moment, just before closing time, when our eyes locked, and I thought he might kiss me. But then he pulled back, his expression conflicted.

“I should go,” he said softly, standing up.

“Yeah,” I whispered, my heart breaking a little.

As I watched him leave, I knew I had a choice to make. I could continue down this path, risking everything for a chance at something more, or I could let him go and try to move on with my life.

But the truth was, I didn’t know if I was strong enough to let go.