Chapter 1: Lines in the Sand

My wife has a male childhood friend.

They act like gender’s never even been a thing between them—midnight burger runs, hotel rooms, no questions asked. It’s supposed to be perfectly innocent, or at least, that’s what Rachel claims.

I’ve brought it up more times than I can count—asking them to set some boundaries, just to respect our marriage. Every time, it goes nowhere.

Rachel always fires back, rolling her eyes and flashing that exasperated, almost daring smile: “Sam, if Jake and I were ever gonna hook up, trust me, it would’ve happened before you even showed up. Why are you making this a thing now?”

But then she just shrugs off my concerns, laughter bubbling out as if I’m the punchline. Her words stung, but it was the way she laughed—like I was just being silly—that really got to me. Was I overreacting, or just the only one who cared? She’d brush past me, already busying herself with her phone or digging for her keys, like my feelings were static in the background.

Even my in-laws treat Jake like he’s family. At Sunday dinners—meatloaf, mac and cheese, the works—Rachel’s dad will slap Jake on the back and say, “You’re practically a Carter, Jake. Lighten up, Sam—don’t be so old-fashioned.” I always feel like the odd man out, stuck in someone else’s family sitcom.

Eventually, I started spending more time with Emily, a coworker—she’s like a kid sister, really. Just friends, nothing more.

Rachel cornered me one evening, arms crossed, her voice sharp. “So what’s going on with you and Emily? You two ever hear of boundaries?”

I shot her the line she always used: “Emily and I have worked together for three years. If anything was gonna happen, it would’ve happened already. Would you even get a shot?”