Now I realized I had been wrong.
In David’s world, technical strength was only the bare minimum—expected, taken for granted.
What really earned you points were the things that let him boast at conferences and on LinkedIn: “vibes,” “user experience.”
He didn’t want a precision instrument quietly solving core problems.
He wanted a flashy speaker system playing background music.
The company’s technical framework was now stable, the core business running smoothly—
In his eyes, my value had already been drained dry.
I was like a high-speed engine—too noisy, not pretty enough—ready to be replaced by shinier, more decorative parts.
What he needed now was no longer an engineer who could solve critical technical challenges, but a cheerleader to sing his praises.
I watched his mouth keep moving, the same tired clichés spilling out.
I knew then—the time had come.
Five years.
I had poured the best years of my life into this place.
I had built the company’s entire architecture, handled countless emergencies, and provided its most solid backbone.
As the engineer who designed it all, I knew every single screw in this machine.
I had thought this was my career, my creation, my life’s work.