Chapter 4

Our sixth wedding anniversary arrived on a Thursday, and despite everything that had happened between Adrian and me, I still woke that morning with a small, foolish hope that he would remember.

For six years, our anniversary had been one of the few dates Adrian never completely forgot. Even when work consumed him, he would usually send flowers, arrange dinner, or call before the day ended. It wasn't always enough, but I had learned to appreciate those small gestures because I had spent years convincing myself that they meant he still cared.

This year, however, there was nothing.

I watched him drink his coffee at breakfast while scrolling through messages on his phone. He was already thinking about work, just as he did every morning.

"You have a busy day?" I asked.

"The board meeting was moved to ten," he replied without looking up. "Then I have a meeting with the logistics team after lunch."

I nodded. "I see."

He glanced at me. "Why?"

"No reason."

He returned to his phone, and I said nothing more.

I had already decided that I wouldn't remind him. If Adrian remembered, then I would know that the day still mattered to him. If he didn't, then perhaps I needed to stop pretending that it mattered to both of us.

By late afternoon, I still hadn't received a single message from him. At five thirty, I finally picked up my phone and typed:

Don't forget tonight. Six years. I'll see you at eight.

The message was marked as read almost immediately.

There was no reply.

I stared at the screen for several seconds before putting the phone away. I could have called him, but I refused to spend another evening chasing a man who was perfectly capable of remembering our anniversary without being reminded.

At seven thirty, I arrived at the restaurant.

It was the same place where we had celebrated our first anniversary. Six years earlier, Adrian had held my hand across the table and talked about the future as though nothing in the world could possibly separate us. Now I sat at the same table alone while two glasses of wine waited between an untouched plate and a vase of white roses.

The manager greeted me personally and smiled.

"Mr. Blackwell should be here soon, Mrs. Blackwell."

I returned the smile.

"Yes. He should."

I sat down and waited.

Eight o'clock came.

Then eight fifteen.

At eight thirty, I checked my phone again.

Nothing.

I tried calling Adrian once. He didn't answer.

I didn't call again.

Then my phone vibrated.

For a moment, I thought it was him.

It was Vivian.

She had posted a new photograph from what appeared to be a corporate celebration. Adrian stood among several executives in a dark suit, while Vivian was beside him with one hand resting comfortably on his shoulder.

He was smiling.

The caption read:

Celebrating another successful year with the people who make it possible.

I stared at the photograph.

Another year.

Our sixth anniversary was today.

Vivian knew.

She knew Adrian's schedule better than anyone. She knew where he was, what meetings he attended, what he liked to eat, and when he was supposed to go home. If she could stand beside him at a corporate celebration tonight, then she certainly knew that his wife was waiting for him at a restaurant.

I opened my conversation with Adrian.

I'm at the restaurant. Are you coming?

The message was read almost immediately.

He didn't answer.

Something inside me went strangely quiet.

I called the waiter and asked for the bill.

"Is Mr. Blackwell still joining you?" he asked politely.

I shook my head.

"No. Please cancel the rest of the dinner."

He looked surprised but nodded.

I paid for the wine, left the restaurant, and drove home.

There were no tears.

There was no anger.

For once, I didn't feel the need to demand an explanation.

When Adrian finally came home after midnight, I was sitting in our bedroom. I heard him enter the house and walk upstairs, and I waited for the bedroom door to open.

It did.

He stepped inside and loosened his tie.

"You're still awake."

"Yes."

He looked at me for a moment before saying, "I thought you'd be angry."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't make it to dinner."

"You didn't."

"I got caught up with the event."

"I know."

His expression tightened.

"You saw the photos?"

"Yes."

"It wasn't what you think."

I almost smiled.

"I didn't say I thought anything."

He stared at me, clearly uncomfortable with my response.

"Then why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?"

"You're being strangely calm."

I looked at him for several seconds. "What would you like me to do, Adrian? Cry? Accuse you of something? Demand that you explain why Vivian was standing beside you?"

He didn't answer.

"I've done all of those things before," I continued. "None of them changed anything."

His face became slightly more serious.

"I told you I had an important event."

"And I told you I understood."

"Then what's the problem?"

"There isn't one."

He clearly didn't believe me.

"I'll make it up to you," he said eventually.

I nodded.

"Okay."

He stood there for another moment, almost as though he were waiting for me to argue. When I didn't, he walked into the bathroom.

I waited until I heard the shower running before leaving the bedroom.

The hallway outside our room was lined with photographs from our marriage. Our wedding day, our honeymoon, our first Christmas together, vacations, birthdays, anniversaries, and countless ordinary moments filled the walls.

I had spent years looking at those photographs and remembering how happy I had been.

That night, I realized I no longer wanted to see them.

I took down the first frame.

Then another.

I removed every photograph of Adrian and me from the hallway and placed them carefully inside a box. I wasn't destroying them. I simply didn't want them displayed anymore.

By the time Adrian came out of the bathroom, the walls were empty.

He stopped in the hallway.

"What happened to the pictures?"

"I put them away."

"Why?"

"I didn't want them here anymore."

His eyes moved across the empty walls.

"Why would you suddenly do that?"

"I was tired of looking at them."

He picked up one of the empty frames from the console table and stared at it.

"Elena."

I looked at him.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing."

"Don't tell me nothing. You've been acting differently for days."

I said nothing.

He looked at the box beside me, then at the empty walls again.

"Are you angry with me?"

"No."

"Then why does it feel like something is wrong?"

That question almost made me laugh.

Something was wrong.

He simply didn't understand what it was.

For years, whenever Adrian hurt me, I had made sure he knew. I confronted him, cried in front of him, explained why I was hurt, and waited for him to promise that he would do better.

Tonight, I had nothing left to explain.

I looked at the man I had loved for six years and realized that I no longer needed him to understand why I was leaving pieces of our marriage behind.

He would understand eventually.

Maybe not tonight.

Maybe not tomorrow.

But eventually.

Adrian continued staring at me, his expression slowly changing as he looked around the silent hallway.

For the first time, there was no irritation in his eyes.

There was uncertainty.

Then something deeper.

Fear.

He finally realized that something was wrong.

He just didn't realize that the woman he was afraid of losing had already begun to walk away.