Chapter 1: Five years of waiting
The clock on the wall read 10:14 p.m.
I stared at it from my place at the dining table, trying to convince myself that I wasn’t disappointed. The candles in front of me had burned almost halfway down, their flames flickering weakly over the table I had spent hours decorating. Everything looked perfect. The plates were arranged carefully, the glasses were polished, and the food I had prepared sat beneath silver serving covers, still warm despite the long wait.
Tonight was supposed to be special.
It was our fifth wedding anniversary.
I had spent the entire afternoon preparing dinner because, despite everything, some stubborn part of me still believed that Damian might remember. I had made roasted chicken glazed with honey and herbs, creamy mashed potatoes, buttery vegetables and freshly baked bread. There was pasta too, because I knew he liked it, and in the center of the table sat a large chocolate cake I had spent far too much time decorating.
Beside it was a bottle of his favorite wine.
I had even changed into a satin dress that I had bought weeks ago. It was elegant and soft against my skin, and I had curled my hair carefully, applied my makeup and spent nearly twenty minutes deciding which earrings to wear. I had looked at myself in the mirror before coming downstairs and wondered if perhaps tonight would be different.
Maybe Damian would remember.
Maybe he would walk through that door carrying flowers.
Maybe he would smile at me and say, “Happy anniversary.”
Maybe, for once, he would look at me and see his wife instead of someone who happened to share his last name.
I had been waiting since 7:47 p.m.
At 8:30, I called him.
He didn’t answer.
At 9:15, I called again.
Still nothing.
I placed my phone on the table and tried not to stare at it, but every few minutes my eyes betrayed me. I kept checking the screen as though his name might suddenly appear if I looked hard enough.
It didn’t.
I sighed and leaned back in my chair.
This wasn’t the first time.
Damian had forgotten my birthday more than once. There had been anniversaries when he hadn’t even remembered the date until someone else mentioned it. There had been dinners I prepared that he never came home for, celebrations he missed and promises he made without ever realizing that I was holding on to them.
Yet somehow, I kept hoping.
That was the part I couldn’t forgive myself for.
I was always hoping.
At 10:20, I finally stood.
The disappointment settled heavily in my chest as I began clearing the table. I put the food away, covered the cake and carried the wine back into the kitchen. The house was so quiet that every little sound seemed amplified. The clink of plates, the running water, the footsteps against the polished floor.
I blew out the candles and watched the smoke curl upward.
Five years.
Five years of marriage.
Five years of waiting.
I didn’t know what hurt more, the fact that Damian had forgotten or the fact that I had expected him to remember.
By the time I reached my bedroom, the house felt enormous.
I changed out of my dress and slipped into something comfortable before sitting on the edge of the bed. My wedding ring caught the light when I moved my hand, and I stared at it for a long time.
Five years ago, I had looked at that ring and believed I was beginning the most beautiful chapter of my life.
I had been so wrong.
My love for animals had always been one of the few things that made me feel completely like myself. Damian, however, hated pets and refused to have them anywhere near our home. Two years into our marriage, after realizing how lonely I had become, I bought a small property and turned it into an animal shelter.
At first, it was tiny.
There were only a few rescued animals, a handful of volunteers and whatever money I could spare.
But I loved it.
Slowly, other people began loving it too.
Donations started coming in. People brought food, medicine, blankets and other supplies. Volunteers offered their time, and families came looking to adopt. What had begun as my little escape from an unhappy marriage became something real, something meaningful.
The shelter was doing well now.
I was proud of it.
Sometimes I wondered if it was the only reason I had survived these five years without completely losing myself.
I climbed into bed and pulled the covers over myself.
I should have known better than to wait.
I should have known Damian wouldn’t suddenly become the husband I had spent years wishing for simply because it was our anniversary.
Still, some foolish part of me wished he would surprise me.
At around two in the morning, I heard the front door open.
I sat up immediately.
A moment later, I heard Damian’s footsteps approaching.
When he entered the bedroom, he looked exactly as he always did after a long day. His dark hair was slightly disheveled, his suit jacket hung over one arm and his expression was unreadable.
I looked at him.
“You’re home.”
He glanced at me.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
His eyes remained on me for a second before he walked toward the wardrobe.
I watched him remove his clothes and disappear into the bathroom. I wanted to say something. I wanted to ask where he had been, why he hadn’t answered my calls or whether he even knew what day it was.
But I already knew what would happen.
He would tell me he had been busy.
He would tell me I was making a big deal out of nothing.
So I stayed silent.
When he returned, he got into bed without saying another word.
Within minutes, his breathing had evened out.
He was asleep.
I lay beside him staring into the darkness.
“Happy anniversary, Damian,” I whispered so quietly that he couldn’t possibly hear me.
My throat tightened.
I turned away from him and closed my eyes, but sleep refused to come.
Instead, my mind wandered back to the day we had married.
The ballroom had been breathtaking. Hundreds of flowers had filled the room, chandeliers had glittered overhead and cameras had captured every beautiful detail. Everyone had looked at us and seen a perfect couple.
They had seen Damian Cross, the powerful heir to the Cross empire, standing beside Isabella Laurent, the daughter of another wealthy family.
They had seen a beautiful wedding.
They hadn’t seen the truth.
Our marriage had been arranged because of business.
Our families had needed each other, and we had been the price of the alliance.
I had known that going into it.
What I hadn’t known was how lonely it would feel to love someone who had never promised to love me back.
For years, I had told myself that things could change.
That perhaps Damian simply needed time.
That maybe one day he would look at me differently.
But lying there in the darkness on our fifth anniversary, something inside me felt different.
Maybe I was finally tired.
Not angry.
Not heartbroken.
Just tired.
Tired of waiting for footsteps that never came.
Tired of preparing meals that went untouched.
Tired of celebrating alone.
Tired of wondering whether I was asking for too much when all I wanted was to feel wanted by my own husband.
I looked down at my wedding ring again.
For the first time, I wondered what my life would look like without it.
The thought frightened me.
But strangely, it also brought a tiny sense of relief.
What would happen if I stopped waiting?
What would happen if I stopped hoping that Damian would become someone he had never wanted to be?
What would happen if, instead of spending another five years trying to earn his love, I finally chose myself?
I didn’t have an answer.
Not yet.
But for the first time, the possibility didn’t feel impossible.
It felt like the beginning of something.
Something I couldn’t name yet.
Something that might finally belong to me.
