The colleague’s wife broke next; they were not separating and despite what he’d told me, he hadn’t moved out of their house. I was next, when I came to understand that and had to walk away. He was last but broke the most dangerously in some ways. Hundreds of missed calls, messages and uninvited turn-ups at my flat were common. The only respite for any or maybe all of us was that he and I didn’t have to work together anymore — I was already leaving when he started to tell me he was in love with me, although now I was just working remotely and we were in each other’s lives more than ever. He called every day when he got to his desk, the office the place he was now the least watched but most distracted without me there, ironically, and our sly lunches or sneaky, rushed drinks after work became long, pining calls and promises.