Five Years, Then Goodbye

ELENA By eight o’clock on our fifth wedding anniversary, the food on the dining table has gone cold. I stare at the candle in the middle of the table as the flame bends every time the air conditioner kicks on. I should probably blow it out, but I cannot bring myself to move. I spent most of the afternoon preparing dinner, even though I knew better than to expect Adrian to come home early. Five years of marriage should have taught me that. Still, I tried. The dining table is set for three because Noah had been excited about having dinner with us tonight. I made Adrian’s favorite steak, roasted potatoes, and the chocolate cake he used to like when we were dating. Noah’s plate is decorated with the little cartoon napkin he insisted on using, and beside Adrian’s plate is the bottle of wine I bought because I remember him mentioning it weeks ago. I even changed my dress twice before settling on a simple black one. It is ridiculous, really. Five years of being married to a man and I still find myself wondering what I can do to make him notice me. My phone vibrates against the table. For a second, my heart lifts. Then I see the notification. Not Adrian. Instagram. I almost ignore it, but the photograph on the preview catches my attention before I can stop myself. I tap on it, and the picture fills my screen. Adrian is sitting at a private restaurant downtown. He looks exactly the way he always does when he is somewhere he actually wants to be. Relaxed. His jacket is draped over the back of his chair, his sleeves are rolled slightly up his forearms, and there is a faint smile on his face. A smile I haven't seen directed at me in a very long time. But that isn't what makes my stomach drop. Vivian is sitting beside him. And Noah is sitting on her lap. The caption underneath the picture reads, A perfect evening with my favorite people. I stare at it for several seconds. Then I look at the date. Today. Our fifth wedding anniversary. Of course. I should be angry. Maybe I should even laugh because somehow this has become so predictable that it almost feels ridiculous. Instead, I just feel tired. This isn't the first dinner Adrian has missed because of Vivian. It isn't the first time Noah has spent an evening with her while I sit at home waiting for them. It isn't even the first time someone has mistaken Vivian for the woman of the house. That is what hurts most. I have spent five years watching my husband prioritize another woman, and somehow, I have always found a reason to forgive him. Vivian is his best friend. Vivian was there before me. Vivian knows his business. Vivian knows his family. Vivian is simply important to him. Those are the explanations I've repeated to myself so many times that they have almost become facts. I lock my phone and place it on the table. Maybe he'll come home. Maybe he'll remember. Maybe tonight will be different. I hate myself a little for still hoping. At eight thirty, I call him. The phone rings. Once. Twice. Three times. I stare at his name on my screen until the call ends. No answer. I swallow and call again. This time, I don't even know what I'm hoping to hear. An apology, perhaps. An explanation. Anything that proves that I matter enough for him to pick up his phone on our anniversary. The ringing continues. And continues. Then it stops. No answer. Something inside me gives way. It isn't loud. There is no dramatic breaking sound, no sudden tears. It simply feels like the last piece of hope I've been carrying around finally becomes too heavy to hold. I lower the phone. "Okay," I whisper to the empty room. For the first time, I don't call again. By a little after ten, I hear the front door open. I don't get up immediately. Noah's voice reaches me first, bright and sleepy. "Mommy?" I close my eyes. When I turn around, Adrian is standing in the doorway with Noah's small hand wrapped around his. He looks tired. Not guilty. Not worried. Just tired. Noah runs toward me. I crouch and open my arms, and he walks straight past me. My hands remain suspended for a second before I slowly lower them. "Aunt Vivian said she'd take me out tomorrow," he says excitedly. "Can I go?" Something twists inside my chest. I force a smile. "Of course." Adrian takes off his watch as he walks toward the stairs. "Why are you still awake?" I stare at him. "Because it's our anniversary." He pauses. His eyes move toward the dining table. Only then does he seem to notice the untouched dinner. For a moment, I think he might say something. He doesn't. "I forgot." The words are so casual that they hurt more than an apology would have. "You forgot?" "Elena, I had a long day." "With Vivian?" His expression hardens. "Noah, go upstairs." "But—" "Now." Noah looks between us before reluctantly climbing the stairs. I wait until I hear his bedroom door close, then I look back at Adrian. "You couldn't even call?" "I was busy." "You were busy having dinner with Vivian." His jaw tightens. "She's my best friend." "I know." "Then what's the problem?" I laugh, but there is nothing funny about it. "The problem is that you're sitting at a restaurant with another woman on our fifth wedding anniversary while your wife is sitting at home waiting for you." "I didn't ask you to wait." The words hit harder than I expect. I stare at him. He seems to realize how harsh they sound, but instead of taking them back, he sighs. "Elena, don't start this tonight." "Start what?" "This." He gestures between us. "Your jealousy. Your questions about Vivian. We've had this conversation a hundred times." "And you have never answered me." "There is nothing to answer." I feel something hot gather behind my eyes. "Then look at me and tell me you love me." Silence. Adrian looks at me. For once, he doesn't have an immediate answer. I wait. One second. Two. Five. His eyes shift away. That is enough. My chest aches so badly that I have to press my hand against it. "Have you ever loved me?" His face changes slightly. Not enough. Never enough. "Elena..." "Just answer me." "I don't think this conversation is going anywhere." I nod slowly. "Right." He turns and walks away. "Adrian." He keeps walking. I follow him upstairs, my footsteps heavier than I want them to be. He disappears into our bedroom and closes the bathroom door behind him. A second later, I hear the shower running. I stand there staring at the closed door, numerous thoughts flowing through my mind. The sound of Adrian’s phone buzzing interrupts my thoughts. I shouldn't look. I know that. For five years, I have tried to be the wife who trusts her husband, but the phone buzzes again. My eyes move toward it. The screen lights up. ‘My Heart’ A picture appears beside the name. Vivian. My breathing stops. I don't know why I pick up the phone. Maybe some part of me already knows. Maybe I just need proof before I finally allow myself to stop hoping. I type in Noah’s birth date and it unlocks. Right there, the message is waiting. I loved tonight. My fingers go cold. Another message appears beneath it. I wish we could do more than dinner. I'm tired of hiding us. I stare at the words. My vision blurs. Then another message comes through. When are you finally going to leave that ugly wife of yours? I stop breathing. I read it again, and again. My heart feels like it has been ripped open from the inside. I scroll upward. There are months of messages. Years, maybe. Good mornings. Late-night calls. Hotel bookings. Pictures. I love you. I miss you. I can't wait until we're finally together. My hand begins to shake. Five years. Five years of wondering why I was never enough. Five years of telling myself that Vivian was just his best friend. Five years of defending him when people whispered about them. Five years of sleeping beside a man who was secretly in love with someone else. I place the phone back on the bed as carefully as I can. My eyes sting, but I refuse to let myself cry again. There is nothing left to explain. Nothing left to misunderstand. Nothing left to save. I stare at the bathroom door, listening to the water running on the other side. For five years, I have been trying to save a marriage that Adrian abandoned long before I did. I finally understand that there is no marriage left to save. The only thing I can do now is leave. And just as I make that decision, the water stops. I freeze. A moment later, the bathroom door opens.