Was it my birthday?
It was!
With the matter of Arthur, the trip, and of course all my things to do, I had forgotten what month we were in, and not only was this day my birthday, but also our anniversary. That birthday, the day we got married, had been the saddest and loneliest, but now, two years later, I was celebrating with the same man I had sworn to hate and now loved more than anyone else.
—Happy birthday, sweetheart!—I felt Arthur's hand on my shoulder, then a tender kiss on the cheek while at the same time a gift appeared in front of me, a white box with a red bow—I hope you like it.
He then moved away from me to take a seat, perhaps to watch from there as I opened my gift. I removed the lid and inside I found a box with a glass lid, inside was a small rose. I took it out comple
