Out Of Time

At 7:03 pm, my wife, Jillian Holt, opened the study door and looked at me.

"Don't you have any updates for me today?" she asked.

I was sitting at the dining table.

It was our third wedding anniversary.

I had booked a table at a restaurant a month in advance, but she had canceled it that afternoon with a single message saying her project meeting had been pushed back.

I thought staying home might be better. Jillian didn't like wasting time commuting.

So I cooked that night and bought a small cake.

Jillian glanced at her phone. It was 7:03 pm.

Then she reminded me, "You still have 27 minutes left."

I looked at her, suddenly unsure what to say first.

Should I mention how I went to her study last night, doubled over with stomach pain, only for her to tell me my time was up?

Or should I tell her how I woke up in the middle of the night and found her speaking gently to Jesse Cohen as she helped him revise his proposal?

When I stayed silent for too long, Jillian frowned.

She had always hated losing control. To her, projects, meetings, and marriage all belonged on a fixed schedule.

"Steven Yale, don't give me the silent treatment to get extra time," she said.

I set down my spoon. "What if I stop taking up your time altogether?"

She finally looked at me. Her gaze was brief and indifferent, as though I was wasting her time.

"That would mean you're finally learning to be considerate," she replied.

The rim of the bowl burned my finger, and I jerked my hand away.

Jillian noticed.

She pulled out a tissue and held it out to me. "Run your finger under some water. Don't get the table wet."

I didn't take it.

Just then, her phone rang. It was a video call from Jesse.

Jillian answered it at once.

On the screen, Jesse looked exhausted. Papers were spread all over his desk.

"Ms. Holt, I'm sorry. I misunderstood the client's requests again. Did I mess everything up?"

The tension in Jillian's face eased the moment she saw him. "Send me your address. I'll come over."

I said softly, "My half hour isn't over yet."

She paused as she reached for her coat. "Jesse's situation is work-related."

As I stared at the coat in her hand, my throat tightened. "What about me?"

She turned back. Her tone was almost gentle. "You're my husband, and you shouldn't compete with work for my time."

I chuckled.

So being her husband didn't mean being the person she cherished most. It meant being the one expected to be the most understanding.

Jillian walked to the front door, then suddenly turned back and picked up the small cake from the table.

I pressed a hand on the box without thinking. "This cake is for us."

She looked down at my hand. Her voice was soft, but left no room for argument.

"Jesse hasn't eaten all day because he's been working. His blood sugar is low. Steven, we can buy another cake anytime. We can't let the project fall behind."

When she reached the door, I couldn't hold back and said, "Jillian, today is our wedding anniversary."

She placed her hand on the doorknob, then turned to look at me.

"I know. That's why I asked you at 7:00 pm."

I froze.

She seemed to see nothing wrong with what she had said.

"Steven, I didn't forget. I already gave you your time."

The moment the door closed, I suddenly laughed.

To her, our anniversary wasn't a day to spend with me. It was a way to prove she had already treated me fairly.