I was hunting for bargains in the supermarket while my husband was using his credit card at a high-end spa for another woman. A necklace, picked up during a sale, was presented to me as a token for our anniversary.

“Thanks for all your years of support, darling. I’ll love you even more from now on.”

The back of the necklace box had a glaring label indicating it was complimentary. I neither exposed his lie nor accepted the necklace. The pile of discounted groceries on the table was as glaringly obvious as the gift necklace, both equally devoid of meaning. Suddenly, an overwhelming tiredness washed over me.

"Mauricio, I have a dinner meeting tonight. I won’t be home for dinner. Take care," he said, adjusting his clothes in front of the mirror and carefully applying hair gel. He rushed out without a word from me.

On the table, a wilting bouquet of roses exuded a scent of decay. I sat on the sofa for what felt like an eternity, staring blankly. The dim lights flickered like my dwindling spirit. I thought back to the shadowy days I spent with him, only to end up with other people's leftovers now. The irony was stifling.

Suddenly, fireworks went off outside, and it took a moment to register. It was Thanksgiving. What a wonderful day, yet here I was, surrounded by discount groceries, withered flowers, and a gift necklace.

Mauricio stumbled home past midnight, reeking of alcohol. My thoughts snapped as the heavy scent of perfume wafted in. After his shower, he wrapped his arms around me from behind. I remembered that he would do this every time he returned from a social event, and I would respond in my half-asleep state, feeling sorry for his long hours. But now I realized it was likely just his attempt to ease his guilt.

Listening to his loud snores, sleeping soundly, he must truly be exhausted. I didn’t move, just stared blankly with my eyes wide open. I recalled in the morning how I thought I’d scored big with my bargain groceries, only to unexpectedly see Mauricio with his arms around another woman, entering a private room in the spa. The woman reveling in his embrace was Aleah Andrews, the high school beauty queen, a shadowy figure from my past.

The spa’s mirrors reflected my aged, worn face. The attendant approached me with poor timing, smiling as she asked, “Ma’am, would you like to try a session? We have a special offer now, just $600 per session, and the effects are amazing, like turning back time to when you were eighteen.”

I vaguely remembered when Mauricio paid, the cashier, beaming, said, “Sir, you really pamper your wife. Twelve sessions, and she’ll look as fresh as a high schooler.”

Twelve sessions, how much would that cost? I crouched there, collecting apples, my mind frantic with calculations. Yet no matter how I tried, the numbers eluded me. The apples kept slipping through the holes in the bag until someone, seeing my predicament, offered me a new one.

It took me a while to clear my mind. I stood outside the spa for a long time before I turned and left, just as timid as I was back when I was bullied and didn’t dare to fight back.

Sitting on the sofa, that bag of discount goods was a stark contrast to Aleah Andrews’ youthful beauty. Yet, three years ago, a penniless Mauricio had promised, word by word, “Stella, when I’ve made it, we’ll definitely live a good life.”

He worked tirelessly, socializing day and night while I stayed home late, always preparing coffee to sober him up. As his career thrived, we moved to a bigger house. I thought we were finally enjoying the fruits of our labor. But in the end, he was the only one who truly reaped the rewards.

I woke up to find the sun already high in the sky, and Mauricio was nowhere to be seen. On my phone, he had left a tender, deliberate message:

"[An issue came up with one of the overseas orders. I need to sort it out. You looked so peaceful sleeping, I didn't want to wake you. Rest well.]"

I got out of bed feeling like a zombie. Last night had felt interminably long and especially unbearable. The phone's ringtone blared—a reminder of a major store sale event. Normally, this would be my cue to get ready, diving into the chaos to snag those small bargains. It’s a habit I’ve developed over the past three years.

Yet now, thinking about it, those few saved dollars couldn't even hold a candle to one session of Aleah Andrews' luxurious spa treatments. The thought struck me as darkly humorous, as if my entire life was destined to be this cheap.

A notification chimed from the study, drawing me in to find that Mauricio had left his computer on. In all our years of marriage, I had never invaded his privacy. But this time, I couldn’t suppress the urge. In the chat logs, Aleah had sent an enticing mirror selfie. Long, slender legs perfectly posed, every hair in place. I couldn’t help but compare her to myself. She was vibrant and bold, while I was reserved and silent. She was glamorous and curvy, while I was plain and thin. Just like in our school days.

Back then, I was always the contrast that highlighted her superiority. But unlike before, Mauricio once stood by my side. When I was bullied, he stood up for me. When I was mocked, he defended me. Aleah used to sneer at us, calling us gutter rats, two lowlifes clinging to each other. Mauricio’s eyes would blaze with anger, his fists trembling.

So later, I desperately wanted Mauricio to succeed, so we wouldn’t be mocked or looked down upon again. And now, Mauricio has really made it—he's the rising star of the business world, poised and confident at recent press conferences, a far cry from the boy in the threadbare shirt.

I was exceedingly proud, thinking I had chosen the right person. But now, the brutal truth is laid bare. I never anticipated he’d rekindle things with Aleah. I couldn't understand how people could change their hearts so easily.

In the chat logs, Mauricio’s tone was indulgent:

"I’m almost there, just wait a bit longer. Yesterday was unfinished business; today we'll make up for it."

Aleah's reply was swift.

"Why did you have to leave? You wasted my enthusiasm."

Mauricio's response hit me hard:

"You don’t understand. No matter how late it is, a man always goes home."

Reading this, I couldn’t help but laugh. It was just an act to ease his own guilt, a show to justify himself.

"Remember to wear the new lingerie. I'm downstairs, time is tight today, let’s not waste any."

Aleah didn’t reply again.

After a long silence, my phone buzzed with a new message from Mauricio.

"Awake yet, darling? Work is exhausting; I’m missing you a bit."

"Why did you sleep so long today? Are you feeling unwell?"

I turned off the computer and returned to the bedroom. There was our wedding photo on the table, a fingerprint frame hanging on the wall, and the clay figures we made together—all brought from our tiny, shabby apartment. Since moving here, Mauricio has become busier. Thinking back, it’s been a while since we did anything together.

I stood there for a moment. Perhaps we never will again.

Taking out my phone, I scrolled through my contacts, searching for what felt like ages before finding my mentor Eileen’s contact on WhatsApp. After hesitating for a long time, I finally sent a message.

Her reply came swiftly.

"Happy Thanksgiving! It’s been ages. What made you suddenly think of me?"