I woke up to the smell of coffee drifting from the kitchen. Marcus had already made it strong, black, the way he liked it. The way I used to like it too, back when sharing a cup felt like something intimate. Today it just felt like routine.
Today was our twentieth wedding anniversary.
I stayed in bed, eyes on the ceiling, waiting. Waiting to see if he'd say it first. If he'd walk in with flowers or even just a real smile. Twenty years. I'd given him half my life. The least he could do was remember without a reminder.
Sophia came barreling in first, jumping onto the mattress so hard the frame creaked. "Mom! Happy anniversary!" She shoved a handmade card at me glitter glue hearts, stick figures labeled "Mom + Dad = Forever," and a whale in the corner because that's Sophia.
I pulled her into a hug, breathing in her shampoo. "Thank you, baby. This is the best gift."
"Dad said we're going out tonight. Fancy place. He told me yesterday so I could practice my manners."
My chest warmed for a second. He'd remembered. Planned something. Maybe tonight would be different. Maybe he felt the same quiet ache I did.
Marcus appeared in the doorway, still in his robe, phone already in his hand. He looked at us and gave a small, tired smile.
"Morning," he said. Then softer, "Happy anniversary, Elena."
He crossed the room, leaned down, and pressed a kiss to my cheek. Quick. Cool. Like sealing an envelope.
"Thanks," I whispered. "You too."
He nodded toward the kitchen. "Coffee's ready. I've got a call in ten, but I'll wrap it up by noon. Reservation's at seven. Le Coucou. Best table in the house."
I sat up slowly. "You actually booked it?"
"Of course I did." He paused, searching my face. "Twenty years is… it's big. I know I've been gone a lot. Work's been brutal. But tonight's ours. No distractions."
Sophia bounced on the bed. "Can I wear my sparkly dress? The blue one?"
Marcus chuckled. "Only if you swear not to spill anything on it before we leave."
She ran off squealing to raid her closet. Marcus lingered a moment longer, then turned toward his office.
I watched him go, hope flickering fragile in my chest. Maybe this was the turning point. Maybe he missed us too.
The day crawled. I took Sophia to piano, then the park. I answered charity emails, folded laundry, tried not to check the clock every five minutes. At six I started getting ready. I chose the red dress, the one with the deep back that used to make his eyes darken. I curled my hair loose, put on the diamond earrings he gave me for our fifth, sprayed the perfume he once said made him lose his mind.
When I stepped into the living room at six-forty-five, Sophia gasped. "Mom, you look like a princess from a movie!"
Marcus came out in his navy suit, tie knotted perfectly. He stopped when he saw me.
His eyes moved over me—slow for once. "You look… really nice."
Nice.
The word landed flat. I swallowed the disappointment. "Thanks. You look handsome."
He checked his watch. "Car's downstairs in five. Sophia, sitter's almost here."
We rode down in silence except for Sophia's excited chatter. Marcus scrolled emails. I stared at our reflection in the elevator doors, same polished family, same invisible wall between us.
Le Coucou was perfect. Candlelight everywhere. Soft violin music. Roses on the table. The waiter brought champagne unasked. "For your special evening," he said with a bow.
Marcus lifted his glass. "To twenty years."
I clinked mine against his, voice soft. "To twenty years."
We ordered. Steak for him. Salmon for me. We talked about Sophia's report card, the market dip, my next charity event. Safe. Surface. No depth.
Halfway through the main course his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, face tightening, then silenced it.
"Work?" I asked quietly.
"Singapore. They want to move the meeting to tomorrow morning."
"Tomorrow's Sunday, Marcus."
"I know." He exhaled hard. "I'll handle it after dessert. Won't be long."
I set my fork down carefully. "It's our anniversary."
"I'm here, Elena. I'm sitting right here."
"Are you?" My voice cracked just a little. "Because it feels like you're already gone."
He looked at me then, really looked and something flickered in his eyes. Guilt, maybe. Exhaustion. "What do you want me to say?"
"I want you to care. Just once. Care that I spent an hour getting ready for you. Care that I put on this dress hoping you'd look at me the way you used to. Care that I'm sitting across from you feeling like a stranger in my own marriage."
His jaw worked. "I'm trying. Every single day I'm trying to keep everything from falling apart. The bonus this quarter, it's not just money. It's security. For Sophia. For us."
"I don't need more security. I need you." Tears burned behind my eyes. I blinked them back. "I need you to touch me like I matter. To look at me like I'm still the woman you married. To talk to me about something, anything real instead of deals and deadlines."
The waiter approached with dessert menus. Marcus waved him away without breaking eye contact.
"I'm tired," he said, voice low and rough. "I'm so damn tired, Elena. And I know you are too. But I don't know how to fix this."
"Then try," I whispered. "Just try."
Silence swallowed us. The candle between us danced. Around us, other couples laughed, fed each other bites, held hands under the table. We sat like two people sharing oxygen but not air.
Marcus finally spoke, barely above a breath. "Maybe we're both too tired to fix it."
The words punched the air out of me. "What are you saying?"
"I don't know." He looked down at his half-eaten steak. "I just know I'm not making you happy anymore. And you're not… you're not happy with me either."
Tears slipped free then. I didn't wipe them away. "I loved you once. I really did."
"I know." His voice broke on the words. "I loved you too."
We didn't speak again until the bill came. He paid. We walked out into the cold night. The car waited. Sophia's sitter texted: she was asleep, lights out.
In the back seat Marcus stared out his window. I stared out mine.
When we got home he went straight to the office. "I have to prep for tomorrow."
I stood in the doorway, still in the red dress, mascara streaked. "It's still our anniversary for another forty minutes."
He looked up, eyes red-rimmed. "I'm sorry, Elena. I really am."
He didn't come to me. Didn't hold me. Didn't try to bridge the gap.
I turned away, walked to our bedroom, and closed the door softly.
I slipped out of the dress, hung it back like it had never been worn. Then I sat on the bed in my underwear, staring at my phone.
Alexander's message glowed on the screen.
"Can't stop thinking about you. Saturday can't come fast enough".
My fingers shook.
I typed: Me too. I can't stop either.
Sent.
I turned off the lamp, crawled under the covers, and cried into the pillow so nobody wouldn't hear.
Twenty years.
And tonight felt like goodbye