It was my birthday, candles flickering and dinner going cold. Mike said he was stuck on a sudden work trip, but my heart sank—I knew he’d forgotten. Quietly, I tossed his gift in the trash, unaware this was just the beginning of his betrayal.
It was my birthday, and the house smelled of rosemary chicken and warm vanilla, the scents blending like a gentle hug.
Candles flickered on the table, their golden flames dancing slowly, casting shadows on the wall as if telling a quiet story. Everything was just as I’d planned.
The plates, smooth and white, rested patiently beside polished silverware. The wine waited silently in sparkling glasses.
I wore the dress Mike said he loved, a soft green one that flowed gracefully down to my ankles. It felt smooth against my skin, the fabric like a whispered promise.
I brushed my fingers nervously over the delicate silver bracelet he had given me years ago, tracing its tiny heart-shaped charm, feeling comfort in its familiar coolness.
But Mike wasn’t home. The clock kept ticking, each sound louder than the last, like a heartbeat growing more frantic.
Each minute passing pressed harder on my chest. Anxiety twisted inside me, making it hard to breathe.
Finally, unable to wait any longer, I reached for the phone.
My fingers shook slightly as I dialed Mike’s number, pressing the buttons carefully, as if they might break.
I held my breath as it rang, each tone echoing painfully in my ear.
“Mike?” I said softly when he answered, my voice smaller than I wanted it to be.
There was a pause before he spoke, a pause that felt wrong, cold even. “Hey, Laura,” he answered, sounding distant, distracted.
“What’s up?”
My heart dropped slightly, the way it does when you suddenly remember something important you’ve forgotten.
“Just wondering when you’ll be home,” I managed to say, trying to hide how much it mattered. “Dinner’s ready.”
Another pause, longer this time. Silence stretched between us, thick and heavy, like fog. When Mike finally spoke, his words stumbled, unsure.
“I had to leave town suddenly for a work emergency. I’m so sorry. I’ll be gone a few days.”
My chest tightened painfully, the lump in my throat growing so thick I could barely speak. My eyes blurred with sudden tears I fought hard not to let fall.
“Okay,” I whispered finally, my voice cracking just enough for him to notice, but not enough for me to sound weak.
“Be safe.”
“Thanks, Laura,” he replied quickly, almost too quickly, as if eager to end our conversation.
“I’ll call you later, okay?”
I nodded slowly, even though he couldn’t see it.
“Sure,” I whispered, and then quietly hung up.
Sitting alone at the table, I finally allowed myself to cry.
The tears came slowly at first, then quicker, hotter, slipping down my cheeks as the candle flames blurred into gentle smears of gold.
My birthday dinner sat untouched, the food turning cold, like forgotten dreams.
I had carefully chosen the wrapping, imagining the look on Mike’s face when he opened it.
Now, the sight of it made me feel foolish and small. Picking it up with shaky fingers, I stood slowly and walked to the trash.
The box dropped softly among discarded things, unnoticed and unwanted.
It landed gently, like a whisper no one hears, or like my happiness, drifting quietly away into the night.
The next morning, everything felt dull, as if someone had drained all the colors from the world overnight.
I sat alone at the kitchen table, staring at my coffee.
The liquid was lukewarm, tasting like nothing, yet I sipped it anyway, just for something to do.
My phone felt heavy in my hand as I scrolled through posts and pictures, not really paying attention until one image made my heart skip.
He stood there laughing, his arm resting easily around a woman in a bright swimsuit. Her smile was wide, carefree, trusting.
She leaned into him as though they belonged together, like two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly.
My chest tightened sharply, as if someone had punched all the air out of my lungs.
Anger rose in me, hot and fierce, stronger than I’d ever felt before
