Love Sank In Marriage

On our fifth wedding anniversary.

I reheated dinner three times. He never showed up.

But there he was, plastered all over my Facebook—his high school sweetheart by his side.

The post read: [The family I've always dreamed of.]

Aaron was there, clutching his old flame with one arm and our child with the other.

I couldn't help but comment: [What a charming little family!]

——

Aaron's grin was full of smug satisfaction.

Tears welled up, and I quickly wiped them away.

I threw out all his favorite dishes—one after the other, right into the trash.

When Aaron finally stumbled in at dawn.

He whispered, "Honey, I'm starving."

I shifted away, "The leftovers were fed to the dog. Make your own food."

He reached out, but I pulled back before he could touch me.

Holding back his anger, he leaned in, "We had to be there—we're the godparents. And since you didn't come, I gave out an extra large envelope."

"The photos? Just us old friends goofing off. Don't think too much of it. If she and I were a thing, we'd probably have a second kid by now."

His excuses chilled me to the bone.

Five years in, and he's never really seen me as part of the family.

Not a single photo of us together.

And certainly no playacting for a crowd.

I snuggled deeper into the blankets and murmured, "Sure, childhood friends, nothing more."

He seemed pleased with that and lightly patted my head, "You always get it, don't you?"

Just friends?

I've never bought that line—not for a second.

It's like the storm that brews beneath a calm lake.

Like the secrets in the box Aaron keeps in our closet.

Hidden away, but causing havoc the moment it's opened.

His phone rang before I could say another word.

"Aaron, darling, Emma's inconsolable. Can you come over?"

"You have a way with her. She'll calm down if you're there."

With a grin, he agreed immediately.

I turned away, indifferent.

Noticing it, he approached, "Babe, Emma's been tough tonight, and I don't want Lily dealing with it alone. Go to sleep; no need to wait up."

He kissed my cheek and hurried out.

Who knows how many nights he's called away by Lily.

Sometimes, I feel like I'm the outsider tearing apart their perfect little world.

The next day, I skipped making breakfast for the first time ever.

I despise cooking, honestly.

I only learned because Aaron insisted homemade was healthier than any takeout.

Five years of daybreak devotion, all for him.

But I'm done.

Five years and his heart's still not in it? I'm out.

I took my time getting ready and stepped out.

Saw Lily's latest post in the elevator: [True love shows up, no matter the hour.]

It was a shot of Aaron cradling their child.

Endless tenderness was shown in his eyes.

I hit "like" almost mechanically.

Then Aaron was on the phone in a flash.

"Come on, Jane, why stir up drama? It's just a post. Can't you just let it slide? How am I supposed to smooth things over when you act like this? You know she's been on edge since the baby."

I laughed off his flurry of questions, "If I'm such a bother, just block me."

His tone hardened, "Stop being so petty, Jane. Jealous of a baby, really?"

No patience left in him—that was clear.

But that's just who he is around Lily.

She's always been his priority.

I responded coldly, "A 30-year-old baby, you mean?"

His voice rose as he cursed, "Jane, that's enough. How many times do I have to explain? You're just cruel."

And with that, he hung up.

As Aaron always says—being the bad guy isn't so bad sometimes.