Say Goodbye to Love

At our seventh wedding anniversary party, Caleb Thorne shares a drink with his childhood sweetheart.

My face darkens, and he publicly snaps at me in front of everyone. "It's just playful fun between friends—why are you so uptight? If I really had something going on with Emma, do you think you'd ever have become my wife?"

He storms off in anger. That same night, his childhood sweetheart updates her social media banner to a photo of her holding hands with Caleb.

In the past, I would've rushed to her house without a second thought, dragged Caleb out, and demanded to know if he ever truly loved me.

But this time, I don't care anymore.

My husband, Caleb Thorne, only returned from wherever he was the next day.

When he did, I was busy cleaning up the mess in our backyard.

It was our seventh anniversary yesterday.

Before things went downhill, he had once told me, "I hear people say that a marriage will fall apart after seven years, but I don't believe in such nonsense. So, we should invite all our friends and family to our seventh anniversary. That way, we can flaunt our happy marriage right in their faces."

It was precisely because of those words that I eagerly prepared to celebrate our seventh anniversary. I had even started prepping three months in advance.

I would drag myself home after work just to learn how to bake and mix drinks. Even though I was exhausted, I would still painstakingly learn how to master all the dishes that I wasn't familiar with.

Unfortunately, the anniversary party that I had prepared oh-so earnestly had instead turned into a venue for him to flirt with his darling childhood friend, Emma Davis.

He even stayed out the entire night just to be with Emma.

"What happened to your hand?" he asked upon noticing the cut on my finger.

I replied dully, "I accidentally cut myself while cooking yesterday."

Caleb scoffed before saying, "Look at you. You can't even do something as simple as that. What are you even good for?"

In the past, I would never tolerate being seen as anything less than perfect in his eyes. If he had said those words to me back then, I would have gotten into a fight with him that would have lasted for at least half an hour. Once that was over, I would drive myself crazy just to achieve perfection.

Still, that was all in the past now. I had neither the energy nor the desire to waste my time on him now.

Caleb probably noticed that I was upset. So, he reached out for my hand and offered, "Allow me."

I instinctively avoided his touch, but he stubbornly reached for me yet again.

In my struggle to dodge him, I accidentally tripped over a stool and fell.

He chuckled. "You're so clumsy."

I didn't say anything in response. Instead, I winced in pain. That was when he saw that I was bleeding between my legs.

Caleb immediately helped me up and blurted, "Let's go to the hospital."

The pain assaulting my lower abdomen was excruciating. A bad feeling surged up within me, so I didn't reject his help.

We soon bumped into Emma in the lobby when we arrived at the hospital.

She looked pale as she fell into Caleb's arms, whining, "Caleb, my stomach hurts. I think my gastritis is acting up again."

Caleb caught her and said to me absentmindedly, "You're probably just on your period, Ophelia. You're probably fine. You should register yourself at the counter. I can't leave Emma alone. Her gastritis is a serious matter. I'll take her to the ER."

I nodded. "Alright. Go ahead."

He stopped short, a curious look on his face. "You're not angry?"

I found his reaction odd. Why should I be angry? Was he behaving this way because I wasn't throwing a tantrum at him?

In truth, I was just so done with everything.

Why should I care about his relationship with Emma?

"I'll be leaving now if that's all you have to say," I said blandly.

I spun on my heels and sauntered off. I could hear his footsteps turning distant, but I never bothered looking back.

Later, my bleeding got worse. The nurse working at the reception desk noticed my plight and wasted no time rushing me to the OBGYN.

It turned out that I had a miscarriage.

The doctor inquired, "Where is your family? You need to undergo a minor surgery for this. We need a signature."

I touched my abdomen dazedly and muttered, "I have no family."

So, I signed the consent form myself and went for the surgery alone.

The entire process, including the anesthesia, took me three hours.

Caleb didn't ask after me even once.

When Caleb finally returned home that evening, I was lying on the couch as I stared blankly into space.

He shot a glance at the kitchen and demanded, "Why haven't you cooked dinner?"