Breaking Away from My Wife on Our Anniversary

I had been married to Abigail for six years.

In those six years, she became the business genius everyone admired, the self-made queen who rose from nothing, while I became the stay-at-home husband people didn't openly mock but secretly looked down on.

On our wedding anniversary, she called to say she had an important client meeting and would be home late.

I smiled and told her it was fine. Then I headed to the supermarket, planning to cook a lavish candlelight dinner to surprise her.

But when I turned the corner, I saw her standing right by the shelves.

I froze, ready to call out to her—until the moment I noticed what she was doing.

She held a bag of dried fruit and gently fed a piece to the young intern beside her—Wesley. He leaned close to her ear and whispered something. She blushed, lightly punching his chest as if they were sharing a private joke.

The two of them walked off together, their posture close, intimate... familiar.

I stared at their retreating backs for a long, stunned moment before I finally lifted my phone and called my mother.

"Mom... you were right. She’s not good enough for me."

——

"It's good that you finally understand!" My mother's relief was obvious. Then she asked, "When are you coming home? Ariella has been waiting for you."

I glanced at the grocery cart overflowing with fresh ingredients and pressed my lips together.

"Tomorrow," I said quietly.

At checkout, I took a picture of the receipt and sent it to Abigail.

She replied almost instantly.

[Thank you for the hard work, Hubby. I'll reward you properly when I get home.]

Cold, emotionless words.

I let out a self-mocking laugh. Of course she didn’t notice anything.

After hesitating, still unwilling to give up, I called her.

"Where are you?" I tried to keep my voice steady, not letting her hear the tremor beneath it.

This was my last attempt.

With the receipt, with this call—if she still cared about me even a little, she would sense something was wrong.

If she just told me the truth—even if it was a flimsy lie I could easily tear apart—I was willing to deceive myself.

To pretend I hadn't seen anything. To pretend I didn't know.

Because I loved her too much.

But her answer shattered my last bit of hope.

"I told you already, didn't I? I'm meeting an important client. This client matters a lot. Unless it's urgent, stop calling me."

"Be good, okay? Once things settle down, I'll take you to the Arctic to see the snow. Isn't that what you've always wanted?"

I fell silent.

I had told Abigail for years how much I wanted to see the snow in the Arctic with her. She always said she was too busy with work.

Today was our sixth wedding anniversary.

And she was "busy."

But she wasn’t with a client.

She was with Wesley.

I inhaled slowly, lifting my head, doing everything I could to keep the tears from falling.

"Alright... I understand."

"Good. My husband is so obedient. I have to get back to work, so I’ll hang up. Oh, and tonight, I want sour and spicy fish and braised pork ribs."

Her favorite dishes.

I remembered her once curling into my arms, pouting like a spoiled child.

"Husband, I only eat those when you cook them. No one else gets the flavor right.”

"Which flavor?” I teased her.

She pushed me onto the couch, biting my lips with a mischievous grin. "This one—the taste of love."

Taking a deep breath, I rubbed the corner of my stinging eyes.

"Okay. I'll make them."

'But Abigail... this will be the last time.'

I carried the bags of groceries to the car.

The moment I sat down, my eyes landed on the photo of us on the dashboard—and the tears I'd been fighting finally spilled over.

From the unforgettable first meeting, to six years of loving her so deeply I lost myself...

Whenever she smiled, I smiled with her.