She flirted with me, liked everything I posted on Facebook, and called me her “boo.” I tried to make sense of my feelings, tried to give this relationship a name, but there was none. Girl crush, sure. Affair? Not in the physical sense. Besties? There were other friends I had more history with. I began to think I might be losing my mind.

And she was out, out-out, having long been aware of her sexual orientation.

“Maybe she’s just an affectionate person,” I thought, but then I recalled statements and gestures that no other co-worker would say or make. Her hesitance to do anything that might make my husband “jealous.” Blushing at my compliment of her prettiness. Sitting by me in a meeting and saying, “It’s where I belong.”

Even more alarming: When I looked into her eyes, I didn’t feel lonely.

“Have you ever cheated?” she asked me one day.

“No!” I said. “And neither has my husband. It’s what I love best about him.”

And that was true. My husband was safe, so damn safe he was gone emotionally. I feared I was already cheating with my thoughts and feelings. Even if it turned out to be all in my mind, I wondered what else this deep loneliness might compel me to do.

I began collecting reasons I wasn’t crazy. Ways to prove that she liked me as more than a co-worker and more than a friend. After she skinned her knee and I complimented her on her legs, she found ways to incorporate a daily leg showing into her schedule.

Leaving work early one Friday, she left a message for me with a male office mate — “Tell Carrie I love her” — which he passed along with an uncomfortable throat clearing.