Seven Years Broken
At our seventh wedding anniversary dinner, I noticed something strange. My best friend, Darren Blackburn, who had always been single, had suddenly changed his profile picture to a couple’s photo.
"So you’ve been hiding a girlfriend from me?" I joked with a grin. "When are you bringing her around? I should at least meet her and make sure she’s good enough for you."
He just smiled and shook his head, brushing it off. "Not yet," he said. "It’s not the right time."
Then Deanna Cunningham, my wife’s voice called out from the kitchen, "Babe, come help me tie my apron."
I hadn’t even pushed my chair back yet when Darren was already on his feet, jogging over. He stepped behind her, wrapped his arms around her waist, and tied the apron strings for her.
I froze where I stood.
Seeing the look on my face, he quickly tried to explain, "I’m just used to helping out at home. My mom’s always bossing me around. It’s basically muscle memory. Don’t read into it."
I didn’t argue or make a scene. I kept my expression neutral and carried on with the dinner as if nothing had happened.
Only after all the guests had left did I turn to Deanna, who was clearing the table, and say calmly, "Let’s get a divorce."
She slammed the dishes down with a loud crash and glared at me. "Seriously? Over something like that? Just because he tied my apron once?"