Hey everyone, it’s Tina. Pull up a chair, grab a coffee (or something stronger, I won’t judge), and let’s have a little heart-to-heart.

I was sitting in my favorite window seat today, watching people rush by, and I started thinking about a friend of mine. Let’s call her “Claire.” Now, Claire is brilliant. She can navigate a 50-slide deck like a pro, she remembers every birthday, and she’s the kind of person who always has a spare portable charger in her purse. But when it comes to her love life? Well, Claire is currently enrolled in a Master’s program for “Doing the Absolute Most for a Man Who Does the Absolute Least.”

Specifically, she’s “dating” her boss. And by dating, I mean she’s stuck in a cycle so predictable you could set your watch to it. But here’s the kicker—the part that makes my heart ache for her: He’s married, he has kids, and they have never, not once, been on an actual date.

When Claire is at the office, everything is cinematic. You know the vibe—the stolen glances over the espresso machine, the “accidental” lingering after a meeting to discuss “project timelines,” and that electric tension that makes the fluorescent lighting actually look flattering.

When they are in the same room, he is on. He’s charming, he’s attentive, and he makes her feel like she’s the only person in the building who truly gets him. He tells her she’s indispensable. He whispers things that make her feel like they’re two secret agents against the world. In those moments, Claire is flying. She thinks, “This is it. This is the Rom-Com moment where the boss finally realizes he can’t live without his assistant.” But it’s all contained within those four walls. There are no candlelit dinners, no walks in the park, no “let me take you out to celebrate that promotion.” Their entire “romance” exists between the breakroom and the supply closet. He gets the best version of her for free, all while keeping his domestic life perfectly intact.

But then… the clock hits 5:00 PM.

The second Claire leaves the building, it’s like she enters an alternate dimension where cell towers don’t exist. She’ll send a “Hey, I had a great time today” text. Radio silence. She’ll try a funny meme three days later. Read receipt? Unlikely. Then, the ghosting begins in earnest. And I’m not talking about a “busy weekend” ghosting. I’m talking about a full-on, paranormal, Victorian-era disappearance. One month goes by. Then three. While Claire is checking her phone every ten minutes, he’s at home playing “Happy Family,” helping with homework, and having dinner with his wife. He doesn’t just leave the office; he leaves her existence.

By month five, Claire has gone through the five stages of grief, deleted his number, re-added it, and finally convinced herself that he probably moved to a remote island with no Wi-Fi to start a goat farm. She starts to heal. She stops checking his wife’s Facebook to see if they look happy (they always do). And then, like a glitch in the Matrix…

At the six-month mark—almost to the day—her phone buzzes. It’s him. It’s always something incredibly casual, too. No apology, no “I’m sorry I treated you like a seasonal employee,” just: “Hey. Thinking of you. You busy tonight?”

And here is the part where I want to shake her (lovingly!): She goes. She tells herself, “Maybe he finally sorted out his feelings,” or “His marriage must be finally over.” But we all know the truth. He’s back because it’s convenient. He’s back because he has a free night, he’s bored, and he knows exactly which buttons to push to get her to open the door. They spend the night together, the “Office Glow” returns for 24 hours, and Claire feels that familiar rush of hope.

And then? You guessed it. Monday morning comes, he gives her a professional nod in the hallway—the same one he gives the mail carrier—and by Tuesday, he’s a ghost again.

I asked Claire why she keeps taking him back, especially since they don’t even go to dinner. She looked at me with that tired “Tina-don’t-judge-me” face and said, “When it’s good, it’s so good that I forget how bad the silence feels.”

Isn’t that the most human thing you’ve ever heard? We are so hungry for that one hour of being “seen” that we’re willing to starve for the other six months of the year. We treat breadcrumbs like they’re a five-course meal because we’re afraid that if we stop eating them, we’ll have nothing at all.

But here’s what I told her: You aren’t a library book. You shouldn’t be checked out only when someone is bored or when the wife is out of town, only to be left on a dusty shelf for half a year.

If you’re reading this and you have your own “Boss” or your own “Ghost” who only appears when the moon is full and his ego is low—honey, block him. Delete the number. Change your office route.

We all have a “Claire” phase. I’ve had mine (don’t ask, that’s a story for another blog post and a much larger glass of wine). But the moment you realize that “fine” at the office isn’t enough to sustain a six-month drought is the moment you actually start living.

You deserve someone who responds to your texts when they’re not standing three feet away from you, and someone who isn’t afraid to be seen with you in the daylight.