She saw it for the first time on a Thursday evening. He had been quiet all day, shorter in his texts, slower to respond. When she arrived at his apartment, she found him pacing the kitchen, his jaw tight, his voice clipped. A project at work had gone sideways. A client was threatening to pull out. His boss had called an emergency meeting for the next morning. She sat down on the couch and asked what she could do. He snapped at her, a sharp, dismissive sentence that hung in the air between them. Then he apologized, said he was just stressed, and retreated into his office. She sat alone in the living room for two hours, scrolling her phone, waiting for the man she knew to come back.