I’m writing this from the corner booth of the diner where we had our first date. The coffee’s cold, and the pie tastes like regret. Clara and I met in college. She was the kind of person who memorized the lyrics to your favorite song just to surprise you. I was the guy who stayed up until 3 a.m. coding, convinced I’d build the “next big thing.” We balanced each other—she dragged me to stargazing picnics; I taught her to embrace takeout on lazy Sundays. For years, it worked. Then I launched my app. Suddenly, I was answering emails during dinner, canceling weekend trips for investor calls, and keeping my phone on the pillow between us. Clara started leaving Post-its: “Remember our rooftop promise?” (To always prioritize “us” over “someday.”) “You missed the cat’s vet appointment.” “I made your favorite soup.” I’d nod, shove them in my pocket, and forget. The cracks became canyons. She begged me to go to couples therapy. “I can’t, Clara—I’m swamped,” I’d say, typing furiously. She stopped begging. The night she left, I was demoing the app to a room full of suits. Came home to find her suitcase by the door. “I’m staying with Jess,” she said, voice hollow. “You’ve been married to your screen for two years. I’m done competing.” I laughed. “Dramatic much? It’s just a busy season!” She handed me a USB drive. “Watch it when you’re not too busy.” It was a video montage. Clips of me ignoring her at our anniversary dinner. Security cam footage of her blowing out birthday candles alone. A voicemail she’d left the day her dad died: “I need you. Please call back.” (I’d “liked” it instead of replying.) The final clip was her, tear-streaked, filming herself: “I’m deleting our shared playlist. You stopped listening anyway.” I slept at the office for a week. When I finally texted “Let’s fix this,” she replied: “I’m dating someone. He… puts his phone away.” Last week, I found a box she’d left. Inside: the Mixtape CD from our road trip, a jar of “reasons I love you” notes she’d written during our engagement, and her wedding vows. “I promise to choose us, even when it’s hard.” I broke the jar trying to open it. I’m sharing this because we’re all guilty of thinking love can wait. It can’t. Your partner isn’t a background app—they’re the whole damn operating system. Put. The. Phone. Down. TL;DR: Ignored my wife for a startup. Now I’m a solo user of an app no one wants. — A guy who confused “hustle” for happiness (Share if you’ve ever prioritized screens over souls. And if you’re reading this during dinner… look up. Before she logs off.)