Best Friend Marriage の短編小説 & 小説

My sister Isolde and I used to be human. The twin vampire princes, Caelum and Dorian, turned us and married us. The entire vampire world celebrated. Two human sisters, personally turned by the Crown Princes? It was the highest honor a mortal could receive. We believed we were loved. We were fools. Five months into my pregnancy, I was attacked by a group of exiled vampires in the forest beyond our territory. I called Caelum nine times. He didn’t pick up. The exiles circled me, cutting into my arms and legs with blades that burned. Pain tore through my body. I called a tenth time. This time, Caelum’s cold voice came through: “Haven’t you had enough? Vivienne is being tracked by hunters. Stop bothering me.” Vivienne was the human girl that both princes truly loved. The one who had refused to be turned. With nothing to stop them now, the exiles closed in. Their leader drove a blade into my stomach. I watched the light leave my body from the inside out, and felt my unborn child die. When I was close to death, my sister Isolde found me and fought the exiles off. But there were too many. Isolde was badly wounded. She called her husband Dorian for help. All she got was: “Looking for Vivienne. Don’t bother me.” Isolde carried me and ran. A storm hit and we were caught in the open at dawn—deadly for wounded vampires. The border patrol found us just in time. We barely survived. When I woke up in the infirmary, my first thought was simple: Sever the bond.

In order to coerce me into getting married, my grandpa dials my number 20 times in a row so that he can annoy me into flying back to the country. "There's a curse running in our family. If a family member doesn't get married by the time they turn 25, they will definitely suffer from a fate worse than death!" I can hear how anxious Grandpa is. Although it's another one of those excuses that I'm so sick of hearing, I still choose to yield to his wishes. I complete my master's thesis defense a month in advance just so I can surprise Grandpa with my presence. One week later, I fly back to my home country. Shockingly enough, a stranger stops me from entering my own home. "Unauthorized people aren't allowed entry. People like you have no right to meet Mr. Gardner Senior. Leave now, or else don't blame me for being rough with you!" I take off my sunglasses to make out the man's features. He turns out to be Jake Ferrell, Grandpa's bodyguard. The thing is, Jake should be loyal to me, so why is he threatening violence against me right now? Then, I watch as Jake opens the door of a limousine, which is parked outside the manor. He holds an umbrella with one hand as he bows slightly to the owner. "Please get out of the car, miss," he says respectfully. Through the car window, I can make out the features of the young woman sitting inside the car. She happens to be Rosalie Gardner, my best friend—the very same woman who has gotten expelled from college because of her laziness and has managed to land a job in Gardner Corporation thanks to my recommendation.

On our eighteenth attempt to get married, Miles Corbett stopped the ceremony again because I began my vow a fraction too late. He looked completely disappointed in me. "You know I'm a perfectionist. Why can't you follow the wedding schedule exactly? "If you miss the timing again, maybe you should let your best friend take your place." My best friend, Audrey Sloan, was famous for always being perfectly on time, so Miles used her as the standard I was expected to match. If I reached the curb one minute after Audrey at the end of the workday, he drove away with her and left me behind. If I entered the restaurant half a step later than she did on Valentine's Day, he gave her the candlelit dinner that was supposed to be mine. If I reached the airport twenty seconds after her before our annual vacation, he canceled my ticket and traveled with Audrey instead. Even at our wedding, he had stopped the ceremony seventeen times and used Audrey to rehearse my role seventeen times. To make the eighteenth attempt succeed, I filled the venue with more than a hundred synchronized countdown clocks and practiced every cue for over two hundred nights. But ten seconds before my vow was due, Audrey jumped the cue and said "I do" first. Miles ignored both me and the synchronized clocks and canceled the wedding for the eighteenth time. The problem had never been my timing; the problem was that the bride was not her. So I finally decided to give his perfectionism what it wanted. Miles took Audrey's hand again. "Watch carefully. We'll demonstrate it one more time." I smiled and slid the wedding rings onto their fingers. "No demonstration needed. I wish you both a lifetime of happiness."

In our third year of trying for a baby, Gideon Tarrant insisted that I go to the snowy peaks of the Kestrel Range to pray for a child. "The old folks say that if a wife climbs Hallow Peak and kneels to pray every three steps, heaven will send her a baby." Because of that, I faced the blizzard in the bitter subzero cold and knelt my way up from the foot of the mountain. When I was nearly at the summit, the smartwatch on my wrist suddenly buzzed. The health app showed that Gideon's heart rate was spiking. Right after that, a video synced automatically to our family cloud album. In a delivery room, Gideon was cutting the umbilical cord with red-rimmed eyes. The woman in the bed was my best friend, Amanda Crowley. Six months earlier, she had come to me in tears and told me she was pregnant and unmarried. My heart went out to her, so I sent her 80,000 dollars. She did not accept it. She only sent back one line: [Hazel, thank you for giving me the best of everything.] I thought she meant all the ways I had looked after her over the years. At this moment, as I watched the video, I saw that the people gathered around her bed were my own family. My father was holding the baby, tears of joy running down his weathered face. My mother sat at the bedside, her eyes full of tenderness. "Just focus on getting your strength back. We'll make sure Hazel doesn't find out." My brother went even further and pressed a thick envelope of cash into Gideon's hand. "Gideon, once Hazel's prayed that blessing down for Mandy, we'll have her clear out and make room for our big boy!" My husband, Gideon, held Amanda's hand tightly and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. "This time, I'm never going to let you or the baby get hurt again." I lifted my head stiffly and looked up at the prayer ribbon tied to the branch above me. Gideon had written the wish on it himself. It read: [May my beloved be kept safe.] It turned out I was never a part of the beloved he had been praying for.

Damian Pierce said we should be a minimalist couple. There was no need for gifts, holidays, and grand gestures. “True love doesn’t need material proof.” My best friend, Sienna Moore, even backed him up. “Exactly. Your husband really gets it. Unlike my ex, who did nothing but shower me with designer bags.” I nodded. We lived that minimalist life for four years. In all that time, I never received a single bouquet of flowers, and not once did he surprise me. On my birthday, he posted a photo of us on his social media with the caption: [Minimalist living. The best gift is simply being together.] The post got over 200 likes. I left a little heart in the comments. Then I came across Sienna’s private account. She had limited-edition handbags, custom-made jewelry, and a room filled with roses. [Someone once said true love doesn’t need material proof, but he insists on proving it to me.] The location was at the presidential suite of a five-star hotel. The date was my birthday. I scrolled through her posts from the past four years. Every single one had been posted on a day that was supposed to belong to Damian and me. Every gift she received had Damian’s taste written all over it. I exited her feed and removed the heart from his post. Just as casually, I ended our relationship.

My best friend Bianca Russo was born to work a room, and my engagement to Matteo Rinaldi was almost entirely her doing. Before we made things official, Matteo personally picked me up for opening night at the opera. He opened the car door for me. "I hear you've been looking forward to tonight." "Bianca bought the tickets," I told him honestly. "I'm just keeping her company." Bianca pinched me from behind and nudged me into the passenger seat with a laugh. "What she means is, she's hoping you'll drive her home after the show." Even after Matteo and I got engaged, he would say openly at family dinners that I wasn't as sharp as Bianca. "Looks like once we're married, I'll have to keep a room for Bianca at the estate." Family members and their business partners chuckled, but my heart sank with every laugh. Bianca was also the one who'd suggested the venue for our first charity ball as an engaged couple. By Rinaldi family tradition, the opening dance belonged to the Don and his fiancée. I'd practiced day and night for two weeks, until the backs of my heels were rubbed raw and crusted with blood. But when the band struck up the opening number, Matteo held out his hand to Bianca. "We have important guests tonight. The opening dance has to go off without a hitch." He looked at me as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Bianca knows these people better than you do, and she knows how to handle an event like this. Watch from the sidelines for now. You can have the second dance." Bianca didn't take Matteo's hand right away. She sounded torn. "Why don't you let Elena do it? She's your fiancée." That was what she said, but her eyes never left Matteo's outstretched hand. "Do I really have to ask you twice, Ms. Russo?" Matteo raised an eyebrow. The chandelier light cast a shadow beneath his sharply defined brow. The moment they stepped onto the dance floor side by side, the conversation around the room died away. The spotlight fell on the two of them, and their slightly

My boyfriend, Yves Warren, had a memory disorder. No matter what I told him, he could only hold on to it for half an hour. Once those thirty minutes were up, everything was wiped clean. Then, at a party, he drew a challenge that required him to tell everyone everything he knew about my best friend. Worried he'd be embarrassed, I quickly tried to bail him out with a laugh. "Let him draw another one. He won't remem..." Before I could finish, Yves spoke. "Xenia Quade. Twenty-three years old. Five foot five. Weighs ninety-four and a half pounds. "Allergic to mangoes. Laughs a lot. Loves the water. Doesn't like sleeping alone at night..." The words rolled off his tongue as if he'd rehearsed them in his head a thousand times. I froze, swallowing the rest of my sentence. One of our friends laughed and teased him. "Look at you. You've gotten way better." "What about your girlfriend? You must know her inside and out by now, right?" My heart gave a jolt. Slowly, I looked up. Yves stared at me, his brow furrowing deeper and deeper. "Sarah Cole." That was all he managed. I waited, still hoping he would say something else, but he only gave me an apologetic look and nodded. "Sorry. I don't remember." Everyone else was busy praising how much he'd improved. I was the only one who felt exhaustion seep into every part of me. Yves and I had known each other for twenty-three years. We'd been together for seven, and our wedding was next week. Yet he couldn't even get my name right. This time, I wasn't going to correct him.

My best friend, Mia Sullivan, had gone abroad for three years. When she finally came back, she was in tears. She said she had been dumped by a scumbag, was pregnant, and had nowhere to go. I felt terrible for her, so I not only let her move into my house but also asked my husband, Hudson Darby, to take extra care of her. That was until I found a prenatal checkup receipt in the study. The patient was Mia, and the family member who had signed was Hudson. I worried I was jumping to conclusions, so I shoved it back and rushed out the door. After I got downstairs, I realized I had forgotten the files I needed for my meeting, so I headed back up. That was when I saw Hudson and Mia in each other's arms. "What if Charlotte finds out the baby I'm carrying is actually yours?" Mia asked. "Don't worry. Charlotte trusts us so much, there's no way she'll figure it out," Hudson replied. In that moment, the seven years of love I had given him instantly turned into a cruel joke.

On the day I finally paid off the mortgage on our marital home, my boyfriend, Jesse Culver, keeps ignored my calls even though we were supposed to go register our marriage today. Instead, I received a message from my ex-husband, Dave Grossman. "What does it feel like to be betrayed for the second time?" I was stunned when a video pops up. Inside a private room, Jesse was taking wedding photos with another woman, happily leaning against her. My dad, Chris Lillard, who had wished me a smooth marriage registration that very morning, was smiling adoringly at them. My friends and classmates were cheering them on, too. "Kiss! Kiss!" The bride-to-be in the video was my former best friend, Nicki Jones. When I was eight months pregnant, she slept with Dave. After I miscarried, I divorced him immediately and cut all contact with her. Dave kept messaging me. "Looks like your best friend really is irresistible." "Jesse called me a bastard back then and wanted to beat me to death. But now, he's deceived you for her too." Being betrayed for the second time hurts so badly that I can barely breathe. Five years ago, it pushed me into depression. Jesse was the one who pulled me out of it. However, five years later, he joined forces with my family and friends to betrayed me for the same woman. The next second, Dave sent me an address. He texts, "Want to go take a look? It's up to you."

Three years into her marriage, Chloe James knew something was wrong. She had pain, itching, and occasional bleeding, symptoms she was too embarrassed to discuss. She finally made a secret appointment. Lying cold on the examination table, she flinched as the doctor looked inside. "You're so young to have an IUD," the doctor remarked casually. "Why did you decide not to have kids?" Chloe's mind went blank. Her nails bit into her palm. "IUD? Doctor, that's impossible. I had a miscarriage two years ago. I've been trying ever since. I've done six rounds of IVF. Why would I have an IUD?" The metal instrument pressed in. Chloe gasped, tears springing to her eyes. "It's no mistake," the doctor sighed. "The coil has grown into your uterine tissue. "If you'd waited much longer to come in, the damage could've been much worse." Chloe's heart plummeted. Two years ago, she ate a slice of almond cake handed to her by her husband, Michael James. Then, her severe allergic reaction triggered a miscarriage. Her best friend, Sarah Daniels, a top OB-GYN, slapped her husband, Michael, right in front of her. "How could you be so careless?" Sarah sobbed, clutching Chloe's hand. "Hang in there, Chloe! I'll do everything to save your baby!" Sarah even knelt by the bed afterward, weeping. "I couldn't save the baby... I'm so sorry, Chloe." Ever since that tragic night, Chloe had never been able to conceive again.

For the ninth time, my best friend was left at the altar. And for the ninth time, my fiance was dragged in to play the part of her pretend groom. I was holding two cups of coffee. Before I could knock on the dressing room's door, I heard my best friend purring at someone. "You're the best, Anton. You knew this was an act, but you played along anyway." My breath caught. Through the half-open door, I stole a glance inside. My fiance, who had always been cold and unreadable, was looking at my best friend as if she were the most precious thing in his world. "Getting left at the altar must've traumatized you. If I don't help you get over it, Emilia's going to be worried even if she marries me." My best friend tugged lightly at the hem of his shirt. "But this is going to affect your relationship with her." "Not like it's the first time. She's still with me. We're still a couple." My fiance took out a diamond ring and held it against my best friend's finger. "We've been together for ten years. She has no other choice, anyway." The summer heat was scorching, yet part of me felt frozen solid. Slowly, I took my phone out and dialed a certain number. "Hey, I'd like to show you what I look like in that wedding gown."

I had just won the Hawthorne Scientific Laureate on the international stage when my father called me back home. "Bring the betrothal gifts to the Hayes family. That childhood engagement should finally be fulfilled." Afraid of getting stuck in traffic, I took my modified motorcycle, carried the national heritage porcelain obtained through generations of the Keane family's military merits, and headed toward their house. Just as I arrived at the community gate, a Porsche suddenly cut across the lane, nearly knocking me over. A heavily made-up woman, Zoey Mercer, stepped out of the car, raised one sharp high heel, and kicked the top box off my motorcycle. "You rode this junk motorcycle yet dared block my way? If you dent my car, your whole family won't be able to afford the compensation!" My heart sank. I quickly opened the case, only to see the entire box of celadon porcelain shattered. "So you’re just some delivery guy. Think this pile of trash is worth even one of my shoes? "You even know whose neighborhood this is? It belongs to Kingshore's Hayes family! My best friend’s family developed this place! Believe it or not, I can have you thrown out right now!" Right then, my fiancee, Lauren Hayes, called me. "Where are you? My friend just messaged me saying there’s a delivery guy causing trouble at the entrance."

My husband, Mitch Cooley, has been with me through my fifth year of battling depression. While searching for recipes online, a notification for a late-night livestream for anonymous confessions pops up on my phone screen. "What's the biggest lie your husband has ever told you?" I tap on the notification out of curiosity as my eyes are drawn to the profile picture showing two hands tightly clasped together. The interviewee replies, "I'm still single, but if it's about my stupid best friend, then she'd been lied to by her husband three times. "The first time, her ex-boyfriend died in a car crash while cheating on her, and her now-husband hid the truth on purpose so that she thought the main reason her ex died was that she wanted to break up with him. "Her husband knew all along that her ex-boyfriend had been cheating on her with me, but he watched her try to slit her wrists in remorse multiple times without telling her the truth. "As for the third time, I just mentioned to her husband that he could only ever have a baby with me, and he immediately got himself a certificate proving that he was sexually frigid and refused to sleep with her. "But the most ridiculous thing is that my best friend still stupidly went to get an IVF done while I was rolling in the sheets with her husband every night." I feel alarm bells go off in my head. Mitch had also suddenly experienced sexual frigidity recently. The hospital he went to for treatment was one recommended by my best friend, Lexie Moyer. My hands tremble as I click on the interviewee's profile picture. I then realize that the red mole on the ring finger is the exact same one on Mitch's finger. The interviewee's tone suddenly turns low and restrained. "Even when her husband told her today that he would be working overtime at the company, when he was actually keeping me and our son company, she still made a whole table of dishes waiting for him to come home." I freeze on the spot the moment the interviewee's voice changer malfunctions for a bit. I know that voice too well. It is Lexie's.

In the second year of my divorce battle with Adrian Pierce, the judge awarded him everything. As I was packing, my daughter pulled an old cell phone out of one of the boxes. "Mommy, look. It still turns on." I tapped the screen, and an email popped up. It was one I had written to myself 10 years ago. "Clara, how are you at 28? Did you marry the man you love? Is your baby adorable? He loves kids so much. You two must be so happy together." Tears splashed onto the screen as I typed back, one sentence at a time. "I did get married, and we had a daughter. However, I found out he was cheating on me with my best friend, our daughter's godmother, during the third year of our marriage. We spent two years fighting through the divorce, and he won. I walked away with nothing." A reply came back mere seconds after I hit the send button. "You're lying! Adrian and Avery love me more than anyone else in the world. They would never betray me like that." A bitter smile tugged at my lips as my trembling fingers typed another swift but brutal reply. "The people who loved you the most? Funny. Our daughter was born with a congenital heart defect. She wouldn't survive without surgery. I got down on my knees and begged Adrian for the money to save her, but he accused me of trying to scam him. "He froze every one of my accounts and used the money from our wedding gifts to pay for his wedding with Avery. The invitations have already been sent out. "Wake up, Clara. Adrian will no longer love you 10 years from now. Now that you know the cruel truth, it's your choice whether to walk away now or stay with him."

Vivian Hayland called for the thirty-seventh time, asking to borrow my husband Wilson Gomez for a day. The school was holding "Take Your Family to School Day." All the other children would have their fathers with them, and she didn't want anyone making fun of her son. Wilson glanced at me, then grabbed his coat and quickly got out. On his way out, he tossed me the same line as always. "She's divorced, and it's not easy raising her son alone. Stop being so petty." But that was also the day our daughter, Tammy, had been looking forward to for three whole months, because she would be performing for her family. She sat backstage clutching her costume and waited until the show was over, but her father never came. When we got home, we saw Wilson on a live TV broadcast. He, Vivian, and Leonard were all wearing matching outfits. He even let her hold his arm. When the TV host asked how long they had been married, Wilson did not correct the mistake. Instead, he leaned down and ran his hand through Vivian's loose hair tenderly. Leonard even went ahead and hugged Wilson around the waist tightly, shouting Dad as loud as he could. As the camera panned across the audience, applause and cheers rose from all sides. My daughter watched in silence for a long time, then tore the drawing of our family she was holding in half. "Mom, someone else keeps borrowing Dad. Is it okay if we stop waiting for him?" I looked at her red eyes, and whatever hope I was clinging to finally died. I pulled out my phone and messaged my lawyer, Ryan Green. "Get the divorce agreement ready."

After getting drunk with my best friend, Lyla Smith, at the bar, I end up sleeping with my fiance, Silas Clarke, whom I've only met for a few times. Not only that, but I only discover that I'm pregnant with his child two months later. Just when I'm debating whether or not I should tell Silas the truth, Lyla, who has been my friend since we were kids, keep advising me. "You never liked Mr. Clarke anyway, Elara. You might as well use this opportunity to screw this engagement over. "Since you and Logan like each other, he won't mind the fact that you're pregnant with Mr. Clarke's child. He'll definitely treat you and the child well. "When the time comes, you won't have to marry the man you don't like. Plus, you'll marry Logan, the man you love! Isn't this a dream come true?" Just as I'm about to agree to that suggestion, I feel a kick coming from my belly, which has yet to develop a baby bump. Next, a baby's voice echoes in my mind. "Mom, don't trust that mean woman! You'll get abused by that Logan jerk in the future, not to mention you'll be forced to sell your body because of the decision you'll make today! "Dad has already found out that you're the woman from that night! He's on the way here right now!" Upon hearing my unborn baby's thoughts, I tremble violently immediately. Although I don't have any feelings for Silas, I can still try to nurture a relationship with him. On the other hand, I only get to live once, so I can't ruin it no matter what!

Out of nowhere, I heard the slap of bodies coming from the bathroom, along with a woman's breathy moans and my husband's low groans. But my husband, Robert Hayes, was the only person in there! Frowning, I pushed the bathroom door open. Robert's hands were frozen in midair, clenched into fists, and every muscle in his body was tense. He swallowed hard. I was about to go in when lines of text suddenly started scrolling across my vision like comments on a livestream. [He's doing it with Emma Bennett's best friend, Selena Reed, right under Emma's nose. He's wild!] [No wonder Robert was willing to drop over a million dollars on an invisibility potion.] [Doing it with Emma watching must be even hotter! Today's just a test run. Tomorrow's pool party is Robert's real show.] [Just thinking about it is a thrill!] A sudden sound came from the bathroom, and two wet footprints appeared on a dry patch of the floor. Robert turned toward the sound. His deep-blue eyes narrowed, and his voice sharpened. "Get out!" I backed out. I was so furious that I immediately went online and ordered a whole box of bear traps.

Once, I posted a photo of Eugene Chapman and me. He stopped me right there on the street, his face cold as he pushed my phone down. "Louisa, I don't like putting my private life online for strangers to gossip about. Delete it. You don't need to be that desperate for attention." People streamed past us as I fought back tears and deleted the post. Only when the photo disappeared did his expression finally soften. He sighed and pulled me into his arms. "Come on. We just need to live our lives. We don't have to post everything online just to prove something to other people." After that, I never posted about him again. For the next three years, there wasn't a single trace of him anywhere on my social media. When my best friend asked if I even had a boyfriend, I laughed it off and told her Eugene was just a private person. Even our wedding invitations for next month only had a scenic photo on the front. Then last night, a pet influencer's video popped up in my recommendations, and Eugene was in it. He had one arm around a girl and was grinning at the camera, his eyes crinkling at the corners. The post had more than ten thousand comments, almost all of them gushing about how cute Eugene and his girlfriend were together. I went through the account, post by post. The first video of him went up just eight months after Eugene and I started dating. The girl's pinned comment read, [He insists on filming us every single day. It's so annoying.] So Eugene never hated having his life all over social media. He just hated having me in it. I closed the app and texted the wedding planner. [The wedding is canceled.]

My husband, Julian Harlow, has died, leaving behind a five-million-dollar debt. I decide to inherit his debt right away. However, my best friend, Evangeline Frost, goes crazy from worry because of my decision. In my previous life, Evangeline had advised me to not inherit Julian's debt because he didn't have any assets. So, I signed the agreement to give up on inheriting his assets and declare that I had nothing to do with Julian in order to escape from the debt. But the debtors kept haunting me. They even kidnapped my son, Shawn Harlow, just to force me to pay the debt. The debtors were extremely violent and ruthless. On top of that, they kept using Shawn's safety as leverage over me. Every time they forced me to pay the debt, I felt as though I was being tormented slowly yet painfully. In just 24 hours, I asked all of my relatives for help, but I was only able to gather 100 thousand dollars. In the end, Shawn never escaped from his fate. I was sold to Northreach by the cruel debtors in order for the debt to be cleared. But that was when Evangeline claimed that her own son had finally returned to his roots, thus successfully inheriting the assets of a billionaire. I finally found out that said billionaire was actually my dead husband when I watched the news on the TV. Only then did realization dawn on me. Julian was pretending to be poor this whole time. It turned out that Evangeline's son was actually his illegitimate child. The assets that I had given up all went to Evangeline and her son in the end. Filled with resentment, I tried to escape back to the country in order to settle the score with Evangeline, only to die to the electric fence surrounding the slave camp in Northreach. When I open my eyes again, I've returned to the day Evangeline tells me to give up on the assets.

Before our wedding, Cyrus Lane and I each folded fifty paper stars, wrote a wish inside every one, and filled a glass jar with all one hundred. We promised we wouldn't open it until our fifth anniversary. Today was that day. Cyrus said he had a meeting at work and that we'd celebrate later, but I couldn't wait. So I opened the jar by myself and started with my stars. "I hope we spend every anniversary together." "I hope I'll always come first in his heart." "I hope we grow old together." Smiling, I reached for one of his. The first read, "Remember to get her an almond latte every Wednesday afternoon." The second: "Remember, her stomach is sensitive. Don't order anything spicy when you eat together." The third: "Remember, she's afraid of thunder. Stay with her whenever there's a storm." I was allergic to almonds. I had never drunk almond lattes. I loved spicy food, and Cyrus had never once cared whether it upset my stomach. And in all five years of our marriage, whenever a thunderstorm rolled in, he always claimed something had come up at work and left me home alone. I kept unfolding the stars. By the time I'd opened all fifty, there wasn't a single one with my name on it. The almond lattes, the sensitive stomach, the fear of thunder. Every detail belonged to my best friend, Quinn Xavier. Then I heard a key turn in the lock. Cyrus walked in carrying a cake. "Happy fifth anniversary..." He stopped when he saw the table covered in unfolded notes. I looked up at him from where I sat amid the scattered paper. "Consider your wish granted. "Go be with her."