Our fifth anniversary, and Rhett never came home. Not even a text. Just silence.

The next evening, I walked into a party only to find him in a matching white suit with my sister.

My father raised a toast to Rhett and Lilith, “To the deal they closed… and the future they’re building!”

The room buzzed with praise for their “perfect partnership.”

No one mentioned us. No one saw me.

I hovered on the sidelines like a stranger.

Rhett’s hand rested on the small of her back like it belonged there. Watching them cut the cake together like a married couple, the truth hit me like a sledgehammer.

This wasn't our anniversary dinner.

This was for them.

He was busy with her instead of working last night.

Stepping to the mic, I forced a bright smile. "Congratulations to them for being the perfect cheaters." I clapped, my voice cold.

I yanked off my ring, slapped it into Lilith’s palm, and baptized them both in red wine.

“Happy fifth, Rhettie. I’m divorcing you.”

____________

I hurried through the kitchen with my thoughts bumping like bumper cars and my nerves glitching, trying to keep track of everything at once. My eyes bounced between the dishes lined up on the counter, the table decorated exactly how I imagined, and the clock ticked way too fast for my movements. Oh God. He'd be home soon and I still hadn't added the last touches to the cake.

I rushed toward the fridge, grabbed the tray of chocolate-dipped strawberries, and somehow my slippery fingers caught a utensil instead. Everything went down in one humiliating clatter along with me, frosting smearing across the tile like the day was testing my patience. I gasped as a mild but stinging pain shot through my lower back from the sudden crash, and for a second I sat there staring at the mess like it was my enemy.

"Perfect," I muttered under my breath, feeling frustration simmering in my chest. First the timing, now this. The day had been one disaster after another, and I was trying so hard to make it beautiful.

I crouched down and cleaned the icing, the counters, the scattered tools, trying not to think about how ridiculous I must look. And then the panic dumped down on me.

I still hadn't showered, my hair was a mess And I probably smelled like food myself. And time was running out. I wiped my hands, straightened up, and took a shaky breath, silently begging the universe for just a little more time before everything could end up in a blunder.

I rushed through my shower faster than I should have, barely taking the time to scrub myself clean, as the steam clung to my skin. I yanked my pink dress into place and pulled my hair back into a half messy ponytail, that was one thing I loved the most about myself, I had Rapunzel's hair, blonde and bright, okay maybe not that long, but one half of hers, since it goes down till my hips.

My hands trembled slightly while I slid my hoop earrings in place, the pair Rhett always said suited me best, like they were made just for my face and no one else's.

My makeup was simple, the way he liked it. Soft blush, brown liner, a bit of mascara, a touch of gloss that tasted like berries.

The timer dinged from the kitchen and my heart jumped. I hurried toward the oven and pulled out the lasagna, the heat rolling onto my very cool face. The smell filled the room in seconds. Warmly nostalgic and cheesy. A smell that reminded me of my aunt's house, where little gestures meant everything and effort never felt one sided.

I moved dish by dish onto the table, arranging everything until it looked like love if love could sit in bowls and platters. Lasagna, steak sandwiches, taco salad, mexican rice, still steaming, chicken noodle soup because he always said it tasted like comfort. Crispy wings brushed with honey, creamy corn sprinkled with paprika the way he loves.

Then the desserts. A classic banana split the way he prefers. And a nut cake with strawberry topping because it has been his favorite for as long as I have known him. I took special baking classes to make it instead of getting it custom made.

I had practiced this recipe for three weeks in a rented class on the other side of town, pretending it was about learning a new skill when really the only person I wanted to impress was my husband. I burned my fingers and cake itself, and everyone at the clinic laughed when I came in smelling like sugar and panic.

I stepped back and looked at the table, pride and love spreading in my chest like a mini halo. It looked beautiful, with a color of warmth and effort.

I looked down at my engagement ring, the diamond glowing dimly in the golden lamps and candles. Six years together, five years married. Sometimes it still felt unreal, I got to marry my childhood crush, my first boyfriend, my one and only, my forever. That kind of love always felt rare to me, like something people dream about but never actually get to live in reality.

I glanced at the antique clock we bought together, and sighed deeply in relief, there were still fifteen minutes left meaning I hadn't been late or way too early either.

His message lit up the screen while I was still tying the last ribbon on the cloth napkins, stupidly feeling proud of how picture-perfect everything looked.

Don't wait up. Might be late, maybe staying at the office.

No congratulations. No goodnight. No sweet name.

I stood there staring at those few words until they blurred like I had suddenly developed dyslexia. Not because the message was rude or cold, but because it was empty. Like we'd stopped being us and I hadn't noticed the exact moment it happened.

I set my phone down on the table beside the candles I'd lit-soft white ones he used to say made the house feel warm and cozy.

Everything looked warm, pretty and romantic. Everything except the part where he wasn't coming home.

I tried telling myself he was just tired. That work was insane and this contract had everyone on edge. That he wasn't avoiding me-just overwhelmed. And maybe that used to be enough of an excuse.

But lately? I couldn't tell if I'm loosing him slowly, or if he'd just slipped away while I was busy believing we were fine.

My phone screen dimmed, leaving his message glowing faintly like it was mocking me. No happy anniversary. No heart emoji. Nothing that even resembled a husband remembering his wife.

I scrolled up through our old messages-little flirty jokes, random I-love-yous from months ago. They felt like someone else's memories now. Someone who still mattered to him.

I gazed at the oversized wedding photo, our beaming faces frozen in time. The smiles we wore, radiant and genuine, seemed almost surreal now. Scattered around it were snapshots of us, carefully captured moments from our journey, laughter pained in frames. But the question lingered, a whisper in the loneliness, what happened to that us, the one that seemed invincible.

I checked my notifications again even though I already knew-no messages from his family, none from mine, certainly. No calls, no texts saying congratulations or love. Not even a lazy hope you two enjoy your day.

It was almost funny. No one remembered.

But the sting wasn't from them. They had already taught me blood didn't make family.

It was from him. The only person whose attention, whose presence, whose love I still wanted, had forgotten too.

I pulled out a chair and sat down at the beautifully set table-two plates, two wine glasses, the yellow flowers he once said reminded him of me.

I stared at the empty seat across from me and whispered to the wistful memory of my husband.

"Happy anniversary, Rhett."

Then I wiped my face, because crying over someone who didn't bother showing up felt like giving him more than he'd earned.

And sitting there in that heartbreaking silence, forcing myself to breathe around the lump in my ribs, I honestly thought this was the worst it could feel. But I had no idea a deeper break was already on its way-one that would make tonight feel like a courtesy in comparison.

I called Rhett ten times after that. Each time it rang, my jaw grinded a little tighter. I even typed out a text loaded with every ounce of irritation burning through my veins, but I deleted it. He didn't deserve that kind of reaction yet. I wanted to watch how far he'd take this screw-up. I wanted to see how a man who heard his wife remind him about their anniversary just a day ago could erase it like it meant nothing.

My eyes drifted toward the gallery wall again, to the pictures that always remained like a scared hereditary. More photos of Rhett...with Lilith.

Her smile, her eyes, her hand on his shoulder. She's everywhere. Ski trips, beaches, sky diving, paragliding, parties., success and adventure. All the things he never did with me. I never cared before. I never dug deep enough to compare because I trusted him.

But suddenly it felt like he had lived that wild, carefree version of himself with her and all I got was the disciplined, serious, corporate always occupied version. A man too mature or too controlled to act like life is something you feel, not something you manage. And without taking a single bite of food, something inside me felt heavy and nauseous, like my stomach relocated into my ribcage.

Lilith used to be the quiet insecurity I never admitted out loud. The better daughter. The elegant one. The one who was always praised because she had logic and grace and that cold confidence people seem to worship. Raven hair, model body, ice-blue eyes, excellent business instincts.

And me? I was the messy, emotional, loud, rule-breaking curvy blonde teenager who always heard she needed to behave, shrink, soften, become less. I worked hard to grow into myself. To love the body I live in. To actually feel proud when I look in the mirror. But some shadows have stubborn claws. Even though she left six years ago to help turn the company global, those old fractures never really healed. Her leaving gave me space, gave Rhett space. It let him finally see me as more than the wild girl everyone warned him about.

People love pointing fingers at rebellion as if confidence is a flaw. They hate it when you refuse to bow to their outdated beliefs. And now, with my spoiled younger brother handling the China branch and Lilith back home for the last ten months, she returned like royalty. Parties and champagne, velvet boxes and constant praise. Everything I never received and honestly never wanted if it comes wrapped in expected performance and glitter instead of sincerity. Fake love tastes like sugar and ash. And I had been long done, swallowing it.

Ever since she came back, the two of them have been glued together like some inseparable duo, and every time I try to bring it up, he gets defensive. He tilts his head, scoffs, and says, We're just friends, Perry, and she's your sister. Like the idea is absurd. Like I'm the one creating problems out of my delusions.

But I'm his wife, not a spectator. I see things differently, the same way he would if I started spending late nights and work hours with another man, let it be his brother. The difference is, I know how to hold my boundaries. I understand loyalty, respect and marriage.

And now I can't help wondering if he's with her right now too. If she's there laughing at another one of his jokes or giving him that approving look she's always had in her pocket since we were kids.

It feels like I slipped back into those years before we got married, when Rhett was nothing more than a distant daydream. When he barely said more than a polite hello while my stupid heart delusionally built futuristic scenarios around the smallest interaction.

Only now, the ache is worse because he's not just some untouchable crush. He's my husband. The man I vowed my life to, the one I chose in front of God and family. And somehow, I feel more invisible now than I did back then.

To keep myself from losing my mind, I shifted my attention to the food. If I was going to sit here alone on our anniversary, then fine, I'd at least enjoy something that didn't disappoint me. No way was I letting all those hours of cooking go to waste just because my husband forgot what day it was. People might treat me like I'm optional, but I refused to do that to myself.

For a brief, unhinged chaotic second, I imagined driving straight through the glass doors of his office like some unhinged Hollywood action heroine. The dramatic style, where alarms go off and everyone screams while I step out adjusting my sunglasses. But my car isn't nearly strong enough for that kind of entrance, and honestly, I'd rather spend my Sunday in peace before serving Rhett a Monday he'll never forget.

So I ate. And goodness, the food was incredible. Maybe heartbreak sharpens appetite because I devoured most of it. Thank God I'd been learning to cook because tonight felt like a small reward I gave myself. I poured a generous glass of wine, enjoyed dinner and dessert, and actually felt proud of myself in a way no one else ever bothered to acknowledge.

My heels came off, music came on, and suddenly I was dancing around the living room barefoot, singing On Top of the World from Barbie Princess Charm School like I was twenty again and didn't care who saw me. It felt freeing, stupid, but freeing.

I don't have the balance

Think I'm gonna fall

Wish I had the talent

I don't belong here at all

Drowning in the pressure

In above my head.

Why did I think I could do this

I could have walked away instead

This is my chance to break free

Everything's depending on me

And if I keep trying I'll be

On top of the world

Where I can see everything before me

Reaching up to touch the sky

On top of the world

All of my dreams are rushing toward me

Stretching out my wings to fly

On top of the world

On top of the world

After that prideful attempt to dance like a ballerina. I put on a movie. Not romance. I don't even think I have a favorite romance movie. Something always annoys me midway through and I end up rolling my eyes. So I watched The Equalizer. Both parts. McCall's quiet devotion to his wife always gets me. The way he still loves her, still honors her memory, reading a hundred books because she would want to. That type of unconditional and devoted love hits somewhere deep and different.

Rhett hates books. He once said story lovers lived too far from reality, but he never mocked my hobbies, and I never mocked his. We understood each other. Or at least I thought we did. Somewhere between the ending credits and the silence of my house, a question slipped into my mind, soft but sharp.

Does he still love me?