He Forgot Our Wedding Anniversary

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband Preston brought his mistress Stella home.

He bent down and slipped my pink fuzzy slippers onto Stella's feet, then said to me:

Nora, go grab the latex pillow from the master bedroom for Stella. She has trouble sleeping in unfamiliar beds.

Anyone watching would've thought they were the married couple, and I was just the maid.

Right in front of me, they walked into the guest bedroom.

Not long after, their muffled moans drifted out.

I let out a cold laugh.

Five minutes later, I dialed a number.

"Mr. Sutton, that divorce agreement I asked you to draftyou can bring it over tonight."

There was a pause on the other end. "Ms. Hayes, you've finally made up your mind?"

I looked at the bouquet of anniversary roses I'd bought for myself on the table, and plucked off a wilted petal.

"Do me one more favor," I said softly. "That San Francisco project Preston's company has been chasing for two yearstell him the winning bid is in my hands."

Preston probably forgot that the reason he'd cruised through the business world for the past five years was never his own ability.

It was me.

Nora's POV

The night Preston brought Stella home, New York got its first snowfall of the winter.

I'd just set the cream of mushroom soupthe one I'd spent hours makingon the table when I heard the keypad lock click open.

The door opened, and a gust of icy wind and snow rushed in.

Preston stood in the doorway, snow dusting the shoulders of his coat. He was protectively holding a woman in his arms, cradling her carefully.

It was Stella.

"Nora, the heater in Stella's apartment broke. She's staying here tonight," Preston said as he bent down to help her change shoes.

He grabbed the pink soft-soled slippers I usually wore.

I watched her slip them onthey were clearly too big for her.

She shrank back awkwardly. "Preston, maybe I should just go to a hotel. I'm really imposing on Ms. Hayes."

"Hotels aren't safe. You've had a scare, and I don't feel right leaving you alone." Preston's voice was so gentle it practically dripped honey.

He looked up, and the moment his gaze landed on me, the warmth vanished, replaced by a flat, distant calm. "Change the sheets in the guest room. Stella has trouble sleeping in new placesbring her the latex pillow from the master bedroom."

I stood by the dining table, my fingers unconsciously gripping the edge of my apron.

Today was our fifth wedding anniversary.

His favorite dishes were laid out on the table, the red wine had been decanted, and even the candles were lit.

Preston finally seemed to notice the setup in the dining room.

He froze for a second, his brow furrowing slightly. A flicker of regret crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by a sense of entitlement.

"Sorry, something came up at the office, and picking up Stella took longer than expected." He shrugged off his coat and handed it to me, his tone tinged with exhaustion. "We'll make up the anniversary another day. Tonight, let's just leave it."

Over the past year, I'd heard countless lines like that.

Birthdays postponed. Weekend movies rescheduled. Promised trips put off.

And every broken promise had the same reason behind it.

Stella.

Stella was his first love, and also the widow of his best friend.

Two years ago, that man died in a car accident, and on his deathbed he grabbed Preston's hand, begging him to take care of Stella.

Preston agreed.

From that point on, Stella became an unbridgeable chasm in our marriage.

"Okay," I heard my own voice echo through the empty living room, surprisingly calm.

I turned and walked into the master bedroom, taking out the latex pillow Preston had specifically had someone bring back from Paris.

When I handed it to Stella, she looked at me timidly. "Ms. Hayes, I'm really sorry. I didn't know today was your anniversary..."

"It's fine." I cut her off.

Preston walked over and naturally took the pillow, casually wrapping an arm around Stella's shoulder. "Go take a hot shower and get some rest."

He turned to me. "Find her a clean set of pajamas."

I opened the closet and pulled out a brand-new silk pajama set.

When Stella took them, her fingertips brushed against the back of my hand.

Her hand was cold, but mine was even colder.

The shower turned on in the bathroom.

Preston walked over to the dining table, glanced at the food, and grabbed a piece of foie gras with his fingers, popping it in his mouth.

"It's cold," he said, wiping his hands with a napkin. "Toss it. I'll have the housekeeper make something fresh tomorrow."

He turned and walked toward the studyhis back straight, but radiating a cold detachment that kept the world at arm's length.

I stood there, staring at the carefully prepared dinner, and suddenly felt my stomach churn.

I scraped the food into the trash, piece by piece.

The red wine ran down the drain, like some kind of irreversible loss.

After cleaning the kitchen, I went back to the master bedroom.

Preston wasn't back yet.

I lay in bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Preston wasn't always like this.

In the early years of our marriage, he spoiled me rotten.

I didn't like peanuts, and every time we ate out, he'd remind the server. My hands and feet were always cold in winter, and he'd always tuck my feet against his chest to warm them.

But somewhere along the way, all his attention shifted to Stella.

Stella was afraid of the dark. Stella couldn't sleep. Stella was emotionally fragile.

He gave all his patience and tenderness to that woman who "needed care," forgetting that his wife was also a living, breathing personone who could hurt, who could be sad.

Soft footsteps came from outside the door.

I closed my eyes and pretended to be asleep.

Preston pushed the door open and stood by the bed for a moment.

I could feel his gaze on my face, searching.

After a moment, he turned and left the room.

I opened my eyes and heard the guest bedroom door open next door, followed by Stella's low sobs and Preston's gentle soothing.

"Don't be scared, I'm here."

That one sentence was like a dull blade, slowly slicing through my heart.

I rolled over and buried my face in the blanket.

No tears came. I was just tired.

A bone-deep exhaustion.

Nora's POV

The next morning, I was woken up by noise from the kitchen.

I pushed the door open to find Preston standing at the counter frying eggs.

Sunlight streamed through the window onto him, the scene warm enough to leave me dazed.

I walked over, about to speak, when he said without turning around, "Stella has a sensitive stomach. She can only have liquidsI soaked some oats in milk for her. Yours is in the microwave, heat it up yourself."

I stopped, watching him expertly plate the eggs alongside a few sliced cherry tomatoes.

That was how Stella liked them.

"I'm not eating. I need to get to the office." I turned to go change.

Preston walked out with the plate, his brow slightly furrowed. "Skipping breakfast is bad for your stomach. Since when do you take your frustration out on your health?"

Frustration?

I stopped and turned to look at him.

His eyes held a trace of impatience, as if I was the one being unreasonable.

"I'm not frustrated. I'm just not hungry." My tone was flat as I grabbed my bag and headed out.

Stella was just coming out of the guest room, wearing my silk pajamas, her long hair loose, eyes still puffy.

"Good morning, Ms. Hayes," she greeted carefully.

"Good morning." I nodded and walked past her toward the door.

Preston's voice came from behind me: "Drive safe. I've got a dinner tonight, so stop by the grocery store on your way home and pick up some fruit Stella likes."

I paused while putting on my shoes.

"What does she like?" I asked.

"Cherries and grapes." Preston answered without hesitation.

I curled my lips and pushed open the door.

Cherries and grapes.

He remembered perfectly.

But he forgot that I was allergic to cherries.

Three years ago, he brought home a box of cherries. I ate a few and broke out in hives all overended up in the ER in the middle of the night.

That day, he held my hand, full of guilt, swearing that fruit would never enter our home again.

Now, for Stella, he'd forgotten that promise completely.

At the office, I threw myself into the new project.

I was an architectural designerthe work was intense, but it was exactly that intensity that let me temporarily forget the mess at home.

At lunch break, my assistant Lily came over and handed me a coffee.

"Nora, you have huge bags under your eyes. Didn't sleep well last night?"

I took the coffee and sipped. "A bit of insomnia."

"Doesn't Preston love you so muchdidn't he make you a glass of warm milk?" Lily teased.

To my coworkers, Preston was the model husband.

He'd occasionally come pick me up after work, always with some elegant afternoon tea.

I smiled and said nothing.

That surface-level affection was like a bunch of fragile bubblespop them and there was nothing but emptiness inside.

That afternoon, I got a call from Preston.

"My dinner tonight is canceled. I made a reservation at that French restaurant you love. I'll pick you up after work." He sounded like he was in a good mood.

I paused.

That French restaurant was hard to bookyou usually had to reserve two weeks out.

"What made you think of going there?" I asked.

"I didn't spend the anniversary with you yesterday, so I'm making up for it tonight," he said. "Stella said she'll be fine alone at home and that we should have some quality time together."

So it was Stella's idea.

The small bit of warmth that had just sparked in my chest instantly cooled.

Nora's POV

"Okay," I agreed.

After work, Preston was waiting outside the building right on time.

He'd changed into a casual suit, looking handsome and sharp.

In the car, he handed me a velvet box.

"Open it."

I opened the boxa diamond necklace. Classic style, but not my taste.

I preferred minimalist jewelry. This necklace was too ornate, too flashy.

"Do you like it?" He watched me, eyes hopeful.

"It's nice." I closed the box and casually tossed it in my bag.

Preston seemed to pick up on my coolness. He reached out and held my hand. "Still mad about yesterday?"

"No." I pulled my hand back and looked out the window.

Silence filled the car.

At the restaurant, we were led to a window seat.

The view was beautiful, the atmosphere romantic.

Preston ordered all my favorites and opened a bottle of red wine.

"Nora, I know things have been hard on you lately." He raised his glass, his eyes sincere. "Stella's not doing well. I have to take care of her a bit more. Once she's stable, I'll help her find a place and have her move out."

I looked at him, a wave of sadness washing over me.

He always did thiscarrot and stick.

He thought a few sweet words, a necklace, a dinner could erase the wounds in my heart.

"Preston." I raised my glass and lightly tapped his. "Do you really think the problem between us is just because of Stella?"

He froze, clearly not expecting that question.

"What do you mean?"

I looked at those eyes that once held nothing but me, now full of nothing but fatigue and confusion.

"Nothing." I tipped my head back and drained my glass. "Let's eat."

Some things weren't worth saying out loud.

He didn't understand. Or rather, he pretended not to.

Just then, Preston's phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and his face changed.

"Stella? What's wrong? Don't cry, tell me slowly."

He shot to his feet, not even noticing his chair tipping over.

"I'm coming right back!"

He hung up and turned to me, his eyes full of urgency. "Stella fell at home. I have to go check on her."

"I'll come with you." I stood up.

"No, you stay and eat. I'll be back once I handle it." He grabbed his coat and rushed out.

I watched his figure disappear out the restaurant door.

The steak on the table was still sizzling, giving off an enticing aroma.

I sat down, picked up my knife and fork, and slowly cut a piece, placing it in my mouth.

It tasted awful.

I called the waiter over and paid the bill.

Walking out of the restaurant, the cold wind cut into my face like a knife.

I didn't go home. I took a cab to the Hudson River.

The wind off the river was strong, whipping my hair around.

I pulled out my phone and stared at Preston's number on the screen.

My finger hovered for a long time before I finally hit the lock button.

No point calling.

His heart and mind were completely consumed by another woman.

And I was just an irrelevant backdrop.

I sat by the river until midnight, until my hands and feet went numb from the cold, before taking a cab home.

I pushed open the door to find a single dim floor lamp on in the living room.

Preston was sitting on the couch, a half-burned cigarette between his fingers.

Through the haze of smoke, I couldn't read his expression.

He looked up at the sound, his brows knitting tightly. "Where were you? Why are you just now getting home?"

"Just walking around." I changed my shoes and walked straight toward the bedroom without even taking off my coat.

He stood up and grabbed my wrist. His grip was tight, painful.

"Nora Hayes, you don't even want to talk to me anymore?" His voice was tight with restrained anger.

I stopped and turned to face him.

His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw shadowed with stubble. He looked worn down.

"What do you want me to say?" I asked calmly. "Ask how badly Stella fell? Ask why you left me alone at the restaurant? Or ask when you plan to make her move out?"

Preston froze, clearly not expecting me to be so direct.

He let go of my hand and rubbed his temples in frustration. "Stella slipped in the shower and sprained her ankle. She has no one here, I can't just ignore her."

"So?" I looked at him. "Because she has no one, your wife deserves to be abandoned at a restaurant?"

"Can you be reasonable?" Preston's voice rose. "You're an adult, what's so hard about eating dinner alone and taking a cab home? She was hurt, it was urgent. Can you stop being so petty?"

That sentence was like a needle, precisely piercing the softest part of my heart.

Nora's POV

Suddenly I found it kind of funny.

"Yeah, I'm petty." I nodded, my lips curling into a mocking smile. "Not only am I petty, I'm cold-hearted. If you think I'm so awful, why did you marry me?"

Preston's face darkened instantly.

"Nora, stop being unreasonable. I said once her injury heals, she'll move out."

"Whatever."

I turned and walked into the bedroom, locking the door behind me.

Leaning against the door, I slowly slid down to the floor.

No tears, just a deep sense of helplessness.

The next day was Saturday.

I got up early, washed up, and got ready to head to the office to work.

Walking past the guest room, I noticed the door was half open.

Preston was crouched by the bed, holding an ice pack, carefully applying it to Stella's ankle.

"Does it hurt? I'll be gentle." His voice was so tender it could drip honey.

Stella was propped up against the headboard, her eyes red, like a startled fawn.

"Preston, I'm sorry. I keep causing you trouble."

"Silly, what kind of talk is that?" Preston reached out and ruffled her hair. "With me here, you have nothing to worry about."

I stood outside the door, quietly watching this scene.

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, every breath bringing pain.

Once upon a time, that tenderness belonged to me.

I pulled my eyes away, turned, and went downstairs.

The office on a weekend was quiet.

I sat at my computer staring at design blueprints on the screen, but all I could see were images of Preston and Stella together.

My mouse drifted aimlessly over the drawings, lines becoming chaotic and disordered.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Preston on Snapchat.

[What do you want for lunch? I'll have the housekeeper make something and send it over.]

I stared at the message, finding it darkly ironic.

I didn't reply. I tossed the phone aside and forced myself to focus on work.

At three in the afternoon, Lily pushed open the door.

"Nora, someone's downstairs looking for you."

I paused. "Who?"

"I don't recognize her. She's a woman, pretty, with a cast on her foot."

Stella.

What was she doing here?

I frowned and got up to head downstairs.

In the lobby's lounge area, Stella was sitting on a couch, a pair of crutches next to her.

When she saw me, she struggled to stand up.

"Don't move." I walked over and sat across from her. "What did you want?"

Stella looked at me with a hint of timidity.

"Ms. Hayes, I came to apologize." She bit her lip, her voice soft. "Last night was my fault. I shouldn't have called Preston and ruined your anniversary."

I looked at her, with her pitiful expression, and felt a wave of irritation.

"Does Preston know you came to find me?"

Stella shook her head. "He went to the office. I snuck out."

"If you knew it would ruin things, why did you call?" I stared into her eyes, my tone calm but sharp.

Stella paled.

"I... I was just so scared, and his number was the only one on my phone..."

"Stella." I cut her off. "You don't need to put on an act for me. You know what you want, and I know it too."

She jerked her head up, panic flashing in her eyes.

"Ms. Hayes, you're misunderstanding. There's really nothing between me and Preston. He's just taking care of me because my husband died..."

"Your husband died two years ago." I looked at her coldly. "And in these two years, you've come to him for everything. He stayed at the hospital when you were sick. He helped you move. Hell, when your cat died, he dropped work to go cry with you."

I paused and took a deep breath.

"Are you actually depending on him, or are you using your husband's death to manipulate him?"

Stella's tears spilled instantly.

"I'm not... I really am not..." She cried pitifully, as if she'd been deeply wronged.

Just then, hurried footsteps came from the lobby entrance.

Preston rushed in, his face stony.

He shielded Stella behind him, glaring at me.

"Nora, what are you doing! Her foot is still injured, why did you drag her here!"

I looked at him, terrified that I might hurt Stella, and suddenly found it absurdly funny.

"Why don't you ask herdid I call her here, or did she come on her own?"

Preston turned to look at Stella.

She clutched his sleeve, sobbing uncontrollably. "Preston, don't blame Ms. Hayes. I came on my own. I wanted to explain to her, I don't want to come between you two..."

"What is there to explain to her!" Preston tenderly wiped her tears. "Your foot isn't healed, why are you running around."

He turned back to me, his eyes full of disappointment and disgust.

"Nora, I thought you were just being stubborn. I didn't realize you were so narrow-minded. Stella is already pitiful enough, why do you have to target her at every turn?"

I looked at this man I'd loved for seven years, and suddenly he felt like a stranger.

So much a stranger that I didn't even want to defend myself.

"Think whatever you want." I stood up and straightened my hem. "Take your Stella and get out of my office. Don't get in my way here."

With that, I turned and walked toward the elevator.

Behind me came Preston's angry shout: "Nora, you're impossible to talk to!"

The elevator doors slowly closed, cutting off his voice.

I leaned against the elevator wall, tilted my head back, and forced the sting in my eyes to stay there.

I was already too disappointed to be sad anymore.

Nora's POV

After that day, Preston and I fell into a cold war.

He left early and came home late every day. The few times we crossed paths at home, we had nothing to say to each other.

Stella's ankle gradually healed, but she didn't move out.

Preston hired a housekeeper to take care of her.

In that house, I felt more and more like an outsider who didn't belong.

Half a month later, there was an important charity gala in New York.

As a business elite, Preston was naturally on the guest list.

By convention, as his wife, I was expected to attend with him.

Before we left, I was in the closet picking out a dress.

Preston pushed open the door and handed me a jewelry box.

"Wear this tonight."

I opened itthe diamond necklace he'd given me.

"No need. I already have jewelry picked out." I declined flatly.

Preston's face darkened. "There will be a lot of media tonight. If you wear this, people will know we're happy together."

Hearing that from his mouth was the height of irony.

I looked at him, said nothing, and silently put the necklace around my neck.

The cold diamonds pressed against my skin, completely without warmth.

The gala was a glittering scene of evening gowns and champagne toasts.

Preston held my arm, gracefully moving through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries with other business tycoons.

To outsiders, we were a perfectly matched couple.

Only I knew that the arm he had linked with mine was stiff, devoid of feeling.

Halfway through the gala came the charity auction.

Preston won an ancient painting, drawing rounds of applause.

The next item was an emerald necklace.

The host introduced it as "Tears of the Deep Sea," symbolizing eternal protection.

I looked at the necklace on the big screen, my expression shifting slightly.

It was a piece I'd seen in a magazine once and casually mentioned I loved.

Preston clearly remembered too.

He raised his paddle and started bidding.

The price climbed quickly, and in the end Preston won the necklace at three times the starting price.

People around us cast envious glances.

"Mr. Hartley really dotes on his wifehe didn't even blink at that price."

"Ms. Hayes is so lucky."

Listening to the compliments, I felt nothing inside.

After the auction ended, Preston went backstage to handle the paperwork.

I stood in a corner of the hall waiting for him.

A moment later, he came over holding a delicate velvet box.

I reached out to take it.

He pulled it away from my hand.

"I want to give this necklace to Stella." He looked at me, his tone as calm as if he were discussing the weather.

My hand froze in midair.

The air around me seemed to solidify.

"What did you say?" I doubted my own ears.

"Stella's been down lately. I want to give her a gift to cheer her up." Preston avoided my eyes. "You already have that diamond necklace. Give this one to her. You don't like flashy jewelry anyway."

I looked at him, finding it utterly absurd.

In front of hundreds of witnesses, he bid on a necklace I loved, then told me it was for another woman.

"Preston, what do you take me for?" I lowered my voice, fighting to control its tremor.

"Can you stop making a scene?" He frowned, impatience in his tone. "It's just a necklace. Do you have to be this petty? I'll buy you a better one tomorrow."

Just a necklace.

Nora's POV

He didn't get itwhat I cared about was never the necklace. It was his heart, which had completely tilted toward Stella.

I pulled my hand back, clenching it into a tight fist, my nails digging into my palm. I used the pain to hold onto my last shred of dignity.

"Fine. Give it to her." I looked at him and said coldly, "Preston, you'd better remember what you did today."

With that, I turned and walked out.

"Where are you going?" he called after me.

"Home."

I didn't wait for him. I walked straight out of the ballroom.

The night wind outside was cold, cutting through my thin gown.

I wrapped my shawl tighter and walked briskly to the curb to hail a cab.

When I got home, the living room was pitch black.

I didn't turn on the lights. I felt my way to the couch and sat down.

In the darkness, all my senses sharpened.

I heard the clock ticking on the wall, the cars passing outside, and the sound of my own heart breaking.

I don't know how long it was before the door lock clicked.

Preston was home.

He turned on the light, saw me sitting on the couch, and paused.

"Why didn't you turn on the lights?" He walked over, faintly smelling of alcohol.

I said nothing, just looked at him quietly.

He was holding the box with the necklace.

"Stella's asleep. I'll give her the necklace tomorrow." He set the box on the table and sat down beside me, reaching out to put his arm around my shoulder.

I leaned away.

His hand froze in midair, his face darkening.

"Nora, how long are you going to keep this up? I'm exhausted from all these social events. Can't you understand the position I'm in?"

Understand.

I looked at him and suddenly laughed.

"Preston, in these seven years, how many times have I not understood?"

In the early days of his startup, when his cash flow dried up, I sold the house my parents left me to help him through.

When he was hospitalized with stomach bleeding, I took care of him devotedly for a whole month.

When he was too busy to spend time with me, I never complained once.

I gave him all my youth and passion, and what I got in return was disappointment and humiliation, over and over.

"You're tired. I'm tired too." I stood up and looked down at him. "Preston, let's split up."

I said it softly, but it landed like a sledgehammer in the quiet living room.

Preston's head jerked up, his eyes filled with shock and disbelief.

"What did you say?"

"I said, let's get a divorce." I looked into his eyes, my tone calmer than ever.

No hysterics, no tears.

Just a sense of release.

Preston stared at me, his chest heaving violently.

After a long moment, he let out a cold laugh.

"Divorce? Nora, do you think marriage is a game? You get married when you want, divorce when you want?"

He stood up and stepped closer, his eyes carrying a condescending arrogance.

"Don't think threatening me with divorce will make me cave. I'm telling you, it won't happen."

He thought I was playing hard to get.

He thought I couldn't leave him.

I looked at that familiar face and suddenly felt utterly exhausted.

I turned and walked toward the bedroom. "I'll have my lawyer draft the agreement and send it to you."

The door closed behind me.

I leaned against it and let out a long breath.

It was over.

This seven-year war of attrition was finally about to end.