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Cc: [email protected]; [email protected]
Subject: Request to disclose consensual relationship (pre-employment)
Hi HR Team,
We’d like to arrange a meeting to disclose a consensual relationship between Sable Morgan and Noah Calloway that began prior to Noah’s start date at our Stratwell branch. We want to ensure compliance with the Employee Handbook and discuss any recommended mitigation.
We’re available any day during work hours, please let us know what works best.
Thank you,
Sable Morgan – Coordination
Noah Calloway – Senior Account Lead
“Want me to send it?” she asks, not looking up from the screen.
“You’re sure?”
She meets my eyes like it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I’m sure.”
She’s sure. She’s sure.
I swallow hard, breath catching somewhere behind my teeth. I shouldn’t feel this much. It’s just a click. A simple message. But fuck—it’s everything too.
“Then…” I force the word out, quiet and thick. “Yeah. Yes. Please.”
She taps once, the faint whoosh of the email cutting through there.
And just like that, it’s done. No hiding. No pretending. No taking it back.
I chose her. She chose me. We chose each other. And whatever happens now—we’re in it together.
Epilogue
Sable - Six Months Later
The TV flickers low across the room—some documentary about shipwrecks or black holes or something else with ominous narration and slow cinematic pans. Noah picked it. I wasn’t really paying attention, haven’t been for a while. I’m scrolling through work emails, half-focused, glass of wine sweating on the table beside me, inbox chewing through my Saturday night like it’s got teeth.
My inbox dings again and I flick open the notification, eyes half-squinted in the dim lamplight. Just one more flagged item—one last edit pass on the Lark & Dune brief before Monday.
“Turn it off,” Noah murmurs from where he’s sprawled out on the couch beside me.
I hum without looking up at him. “In a minute.”
“Sable,” he says, firmer this time. “It’s Saturday.”
“It won’t take long.”
“You said that an hour ago. Come on, I’m the account lead and even I switch off on weekends.”
“Deadlines don’t care what day it is.”
I don’t look at him. I don’t have to. I can feel the frown he’s aiming at me like a goddamn laser, radiating from two feet away. He shifts—barely—but I catch the movement out of the corner of my eye. The couch dips under his weight as he lowers his head, one hand moving to pull down the throw blanket over my lap.
His nose nudges gently against my stomach, through the thin cotton of my shirt.
