One

Five years earlier...

Aria's pov

Once upon a time, I loved my husband. He used to rub my feet when I told him they were sore. He’d bring home flowers…okay, more like a whole bouquet. He never forgot date night. Every touch from him felt like lightning. Those were the best years of my life .

But that’s all it is now. Once upon a time.

I guess that’s what happens when people have been married for five years.

I glanced at the clock.

Twelve p.m.

No, wait. Six years.

“Hi, ma’am. It’s closing time,” the waitress said, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I looked around, and the restaurant was empty.

“I’m sorry,” I said, quickly picking up my things.

He missed it ,not that I was surprised.

I wanted us to have dinner before we left for our anniversary trip. He agreed when I told him it was at nine. I got here at nine. I waited and waited but he never came.

Maybe it’s a good thing. If he had shown up, he probably would’ve brought some investors along. They’d sit around talking business over me like I wasn’t even there. I’d just be left out, like always.

The minute I got home, I sat on the couch and waited for him to come home….I waited until it was two o’clock.

When he finally walked through the door that was the second time this month, by the way all I felt was this dull, heavy ache in the places where there used to be so much love. And still, I’d choose him. Every day of my life, I’d still choose him.

“Hi, Mrs.King,” he said, placing a kiss on my cheek.

His presence always calms me, no matter what.

I forced a smile. He just got home from the office. He didn't need a nagging wife right now.

“How was your day?” I asked, sounding like everything was totally fine, even though he had stood me up, even though it was clear he had forgotten we were supposed to even go on a date.

“Same old, same old. Who made dinner tonight, you or Mrs Potts” he asked.

“ I did, ”

“Then I should eat,” he replied and walked over to the table and I followed him.

“You know you can’t be late tomorrow, right?” I asked, gently kneading his shoulders from behind.

“Yeah, I promise I won’t be....” he said, then trailed off , he tilted his head like he was trying to remember something and when it finally clicked

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry. I forgot my meeting ran late.”

He pulled me gently until I was sitting on his lap. That’s how he softens things even when we’re mad at each other ‘we can still be in each other's arms and be upset’...he said that to me years ago and he never fails to pull me close when he believes I'm upset.

“I lost track of time, Mrs. King. But I promise, tomorrow will be different. I’ll be here on time for the flight,” he said, kissing my neck.

“Okay,”

But even then, deep down, I knew something was going to go wrong

~~~~~~

“Ma’am,” Mrs. Potts…the cook, called softly from the hallway.

“Yes?” I answered, turning toward her trying to sound normal.

“I just wanted to remind you about my daughter. She’ll be taking over for me once she has her baby. She’s pregnant.”

My breath caught in my throat.

My hand drifted to my stomach, a reflex I couldn’t stop. Even through the fabric of my dress, I could feel it—the scar. Faint, but always there. The one that reminded me of everything I lost.

Of what I’ll never have.

Not after that night. The night everything inside me broke. The night they told me that I would never be able to carry a child .

I hadn’t cried about it in a long time. But now, just hearing the word pregnant, something in me cracked open.

I swallowed hard, forcing the grief back down where I kept it hidden. Buried and Silent.

All I have left is him. My husband.

If I lose him too, then there really will be nothing left of me.

“That’s okay,” I said, somehow finding a smile. “I’d really love to meet her before she officially starts.”

Mrs. Potts smiled and nodded before she left the room.

I turned to the clock again

He had thirty minutes left. If he left the office now we could still make the flight. We could still do something together

I sat on the edge of the bed, eyes glued to the clock, begging each minute not to disappear so quickly.

One hour passed.

Then two.

Three….

He was five hours late.

I looked at the suitcases I had packed with so much care over the week. Every outfit chosen, every detail planned. I thought this trip might help us find each other again.

I let out a laugh, but it didn’t sound like me. It sounded hollow, like something broken trying to make noise.

All that effort. All that hope.

Wasted.

I picked up my phone and called him but it went straight to voicemail, I called again

Still nothing.

I thought about calling his office. About asking his secretary to connect me to my own husband but the thought made my stomach twist.

I’m his wife.

I shouldn’t have to beg for space in his world.

Goddamnit, I’m his wife…I shouldn't have to call his staff to connect my calls .

I sank into the chair beside the window. Just sat there. Not moving. Barely breathing.

I didn’t even realize I was crying until I tasted it ….the salt on my lips.

Then my phone buzzed.

My heart jumped and I reached for it like it was a lifeline.

Please let it be him.

Please let him say he’s sorry. That he missed the flight but he’s booking another one. That he still wants this, That we still have a chance.

But it wasn’t him.

It was a message. Just a single text.

'If you want to know where your husband is spending your anniversary night, come to Blue Star Hotel. Room 303.'

I read it once. Then again.

And I just stared.

For a moment, everything inside me went quiet.

Then the ground gave way beneath my ribs.

And my heart sank.