Sarah's alarm went off at 6:30 AM.
Ethan woke in her body, already feeling the weight. Not physical exhaustion like Chen Wei. Not financial panic like Robert. This was emotional heaviness. The dread of facing another day in a relationship where she didn't exist.
Past Ethan was already awake. Sitting up in bed with his laptop, typing furiously. He didn't acknowledge Sarah waking up. Didn't say good morning. Just kept working.
Sarah lay there for a moment, watching him. Hoping he'd notice. Hoping he'd close the laptop and turn to her and ask how she slept.
He didn't.
She got up quietly. Made coffee for both of them. Brought him a cup.
Thanks, Past Ethan said without looking up.
Sarah waited. Hoping for more. A smile. Eye contact. Acknowledgment that she was a person, not a coffee delivery service.
Nothing.
She went to shower, carrying the loneliness like a physical weight.
***
Sarah's job was at a marketing firm downtown.
She worked as a senior content strategist. Good at her job. Respected by colleagues. But Ethan—Past Ethan—had never asked about her work. Never understood what she did all day.
At breakfast, Sarah tried to connect.
I have that big presentation today. The one I've been working on for weeks?
Past Ethan looked up briefly. Oh yeah. Good luck with that.
He returned to his phone. Reading emails. Already mentally at his office.
Sarah felt the familiar sting. She'd mentioned this presentation a dozen times. Explained how important it was. How nervous she felt. He'd never retained any of it.
I'm really nervous, she tried again. It's in front of the board. Could make or break my promotion.
You'll do great, Past Ethan said absently. You always do.
The words were supportive. The delivery was empty. He wasn't actually listening. Just saying what he thought he should say.
Sarah ate her cereal in silence.
Past Ethan stood up, already leaving. Kissed the top of her head without pausing. See you tonight.
Tonight was supposed to be special. Their two-year anniversary. Sarah had made reservations at the restaurant where they'd had their first date. Had told him about it a week ago. Reminded him three times.
Don't forget dinner tonight, she said. Seven o'clock. Our anniversary.
Right, yeah. I'll be there.
He was already out the door.
Sarah sat alone in the kitchen and wondered if he'd remember.
She knew he wouldn't.
***
The presentation went well.
Sarah's boss praised her work. Said the board was impressed. The promotion was almost guaranteed.
She wanted to call Ethan immediately. Share the good news. Hear him be proud of her.
But she knew what would happen. He'd say "that's great" in that distracted voice. Would be clearly thinking about something else. Would make her achievement feel small.
So she called her friend Jessica instead.
Jessica squealed with excitement. Asked details. Wanted to hear everything. Made Sarah feel seen.
This should have been Ethan's role.
At 5 PM, Sarah left work early to get ready for their anniversary dinner. She bought a new dress. Did her makeup carefully. Wanted tonight to be special. A chance to reconnect. To remember why they'd fallen in love.
She sent Ethan a text at 6:15: Looking forward to tonight ❤️ Don't forget - 7 PM at Marcello's.
The response came at 6:47: Sorry, meeting running long. Can we reschedule?
Sarah stared at the message. Felt something break inside her.
She typed back: It's our anniversary. I made reservations weeks ago. I've reminded you multiple times.
Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.
Past Ethan: I know, I'm sorry. This meeting is important. We'll celebrate this weekend, I promise.
Sarah sat on the bed in her new dress, feeling foolish. Feeling invisible.
She'd known. Some part of her had known he'd cancel. But she'd hoped anyway.
Hope was exhausting.
***
She went to dinner alone.
The restaurant had a table for two set up with candles. The waiter looked sympathetic when Sarah explained her date wasn't coming.
She ordered wine. Ate pasta she couldn't taste. Watched couples around her laugh and connect and be present with each other.
This could have been us, she thought. If you'd just shown up.
At 9 PM, Past Ethan finally texted: Meeting done. You okay?
Sarah typed: I'm at the restaurant. Alone. On our anniversary.
Past Ethan: Oh god, I'm sorry. I'll make it up to you.
But he wouldn't. He never did. Every broken promise was followed by another promise that would also be broken.
Sarah paid the check and went home.
Past Ethan was already there, working on his laptop. He looked up when she entered.
I'm really sorry about tonight, he said. Work was crazy.
It's always crazy, Sarah replied quietly. It's always something.
I know. It'll calm down soon.
Will it? Or will there just be a different crisis? A different reason I don't matter?
Past Ethan's expression shifted to annoyance. You're being unfair. I have responsibilities. I can't just drop everything.
I'm not asking you to drop everything. I'm asking you to show up for our anniversary. One night. Two hours.
And I said I'm sorry. What else do you want from me?
I want you to care, Sarah said, tears forming. I want you to prioritize me occasionally. I want to feel like I matter to you.
Of course you matter. Past Ethan stood up, frustrated. But I can't have this conversation right now. I have work to finish.
He went into his office. Closed the door.
Sarah stood in the living room in her new dress, alone on her anniversary, wondering when she'd become so easy to forget.
***
The pattern repeated endlessly.
Week two of the experience: Sarah planned a weekend trip. Researched hiking trails. Booked a cabin. Excited for uninterrupted time together.
Past Ethan brought his laptop. Took conference calls both days. Worked while Sarah hiked alone.
When she tried to talk about it, he said: I'm here, aren't I? I came on the trip.
But he wasn't there. Not really. Physically present but emotionally absent.
Week five: Sarah's father was diagnosed with early-stage cancer. She needed support. Needed Ethan to hold her. Listen to her fears.
Past Ethan said all the right words: I'm here for you. We'll get through this together.
But when she tried to talk about it, he was always busy. Always had something more urgent. Her fear became an inconvenience.
She started keeping it inside. Started protecting him from her emotions because expressing them made her feel burdensome.
Week eight: Sarah's promotion came through. Senior Director of Content Strategy. Significant raise. Everything she'd worked toward for years.
Past Ethan said: Congrats! That's awesome.
Then immediately shifted to talking about his own work project.
Sarah's achievement lasted thirty seconds of conversation. Then it was about him again.
It was always about him.
***
Month three was when Sarah started questioning herself.
Maybe I am too needy, she thought. Maybe asking for attention is unreasonable. Maybe I should be grateful for what I get.
The gaslighting was internal now. She'd absorbed his dismissiveness so thoroughly that she dismissed herself.
She stopped planning dates. Stopped asking for his time. Stopped expecting him to remember important things.
Made herself smaller. Quieter. Less demanding.
Past Ethan didn't notice the change. He was relieved she'd stopped "nagging" about connection.
Sarah felt herself disappearing.
***
Month four brought a small moment of hope.
Past Ethan surprised her with flowers. Said: I know I've been absent lately. I want to do better.
Sarah's heart lifted. Maybe this was the turning point. Maybe he finally understood.
They had one good week. He came home earlier. Put his phone away during dinner. Asked about her day and actually listened.
Sarah felt like she'd gotten her boyfriend back.
Then his work project intensified. The late nights returned. The distracted conversations. The broken promises.
Sarah realized: He could be present. He just chose not to be most of the time.
That hurt more than if he'd been incapable.
He had the capacity. He just didn't think she was worth the effort.
***
Month five was the breaking point.
Sarah's mother called. Said she was worried. Said Sarah seemed different. Smaller. Less vibrant.
Are you happy, sweetheart? her mother asked.
Sarah started to say yes. The automatic response. The protective lie.
But she broke down instead. Told her mother everything. The loneliness. The invisibility. The slow erasure of herself.
Her mother was quiet for a long time. Then: Why are you staying?
Because I love him, Sarah said.
But does he love you? Really love you? Or does he just love having you there when it's convenient?
Sarah didn't have an answer.
That night, she looked at Past Ethan sleeping beside her. The distance between them felt vast.
She loved him. But loving him was killing her.
***
Month six brought clarity.
Sarah was at a work event. Talking to a colleague named Mason. They'd worked together for a year but never really connected.
Mason asked about her weekend. She mentioned Ethan had canceled their plans again.
Mason's response: He canceled on you? What's more important than spending time with you?
The question stunned her. When was the last time someone had implied she was worth prioritizing?
They talked for hours. Mason listened. Actually listened. Asked questions. Remembered details she mentioned.
Sarah felt seen for the first time in months.
Nothing happened that night. But something shifted. Sarah realized what she'd been missing. What she deserved. What existed outside her relationship with Ethan.
The possibility of being chosen. Of mattering. Of not being an afterthought.
***
The final week arrived.
Past Ethan's mother called Sarah. Asked if Ethan was okay. Said she hadn't heard from him in months.
Sarah felt the weight of it. He'd abandoned his mother too. The neglect wasn't just about Sarah. It was who he was.
She made a decision.
That evening, she told Past Ethan they needed to talk.
He barely looked up from his laptop. Can it wait? I'm in the middle of something.
No, Sarah said firmly. It can't wait.
Past Ethan sighed. Closed the laptop with obvious annoyance. Fine. What?
I'm not happy. I haven't been happy in months. Maybe longer.
Past Ethan's expression shifted. Where is this coming from?
From six months of being invisible. From canceled plans and forgotten anniversaries and feeling like I don't matter to you.
You matter to me. Of course you do.
Then show it, Sarah said. Be present. Put down your phone. Remember the things I tell you. Choose me occasionally instead of always choosing work.
I'm building a career. This is temporary. Things will calm down—
They won't calm down. This is who you are. And I can't keep disappearing to accommodate it.
Past Ethan stood up, defensive. So what are you saying?
Sarah took a breath. I'm saying I need space. I need to figure out if this relationship is worth losing myself.
Past Ethan's face went cold. Fine. Take your space. I have work to do anyway.
He walked away. Didn't fight for her. Didn't ask what he could do to fix it. Just accepted her distance as an inconvenience resolved.
That was when Sarah knew it was truly over.
You could fight for me, she said quietly to his retreating back. If I mattered, you'd fight for me.
He didn't turn around.
***
The system interface appeared:
[EMPATHY PROGRESS: 100%]
Lesson learned.
You have experienced:
- The slow erasure of self in emotional neglect
- The loneliness of being alone in a relationship
- The self-blame that comes from loving someone unavailable
- The hope repeatedly crushed by broken promises
- The moment of realizing you deserve better
Sarah Kim deserved presence, attention, and genuine love. You gave her absence, dismissal, and emotional abandonment.
She found the love she deserved with Mason. Someone who chose her daily.
You have now made amends by acknowledging the harm.
Career assignment concluding.
The scene began to fade.
Sarah stood in the living room, feeling the clarity of her decision. The relief mixed with grief.
She loved Ethan. But she loved herself more.
And that was growth.
The world went dark.
***
Ethan woke in his own bed.
His face was wet with tears. The memory of Sarah's loneliness lived in his chest now. The ache of being invisible to someone you loved.
He'd done that to her. For two years. Slowly killed her spirit through neglect.
He looked at his wrist.
5/58
Five careers completed. Fifty-three remaining.
His phone showed a message from Sarah:
I saw you crying when you woke up. Mason told me. I think you finally understand.
And:
I don't forgive you yet. But I believe you're trying to change. That's more than I expected.
Ethan replied:
I understand now. You deserved so much better. I'm sorry I couldn't be that person. I'm glad you found someone who is.
Sarah's response came quickly:
Me too. Good luck with the rest of your journey, Ethan. I hope you learn to let people in.
Ethan sat with the message.
Five down. Fifty-three to go.
Each career carving away his inability to connect. His emotional unavailability. His fear of vulnerability.
The system appeared:
[PREPARATION TIME: 72 HOURS]
Career 6 will begin in three days.
Subject: David Torres - Homeless veteran you photographed and mocked online
Transgression: Public humiliation, viral degradation, destroyed dignity
Severity: Very High
Role: Experience homelessness and the dehumanization you caused
Use your time wisely.
Ethan stared at the notification.
David Torres. The homeless veteran whose photo he'd turned into a viral joke.
Seventy-two hours until he experienced what it meant to have your lowest moment become entertainment for strangers.
Five lessons learned.
Fifty-three to go.
The transformation was happening.
Slowly. Painfully.
But genuinely.
[CAREER 5: SARAH KIM - COMPLETE]
[EMPATHY PROGRESS: 100%]
[CAREERS REMAINING: 53]
[TIME UNTIL CAREER 6: 71:58:44]