I used to believe anniversaries didn’t matter as much as the everyday love we shared. But when our fifth wedding anniversary came around and my husband didn’t so much as say “Happy Anniversary,” my heart cracked. I told myself he was busy, stressed, maybe planning some surprise later. I held onto that hope all day—until I opened my phone that night and saw another woman had already posted the celebration he should have been sharing with me.
The morning started with silence. No flowers, no card, no kiss with whispered words. He rushed out the door, muttering about work deadlines. I plastered on a smile, telling myself, It’s fine. He hasn’t forgotten. He’s planning something big. I cooked dinner, lit candles, slipped into the dress he once said made me look like “the reason he believed in fate.” I waited.
He never came home.
Instead, my phone buzzed with a notification. A tagged photo. A woman I vaguely recognized—a coworker of his—smiling with him at a rooftop restaurant. Their glasses clinked in a toast, fairy lights strung above them. Her caption stabbed me in the chest: Five years of stolen moments with you. Worth every second.
The room spun. My hands went cold. Five years. The exact length of my marriage.
My fingers shook as I scrolled through her post. Picture after picture, intimate smiles, inside jokes in the comments. Friends of hers cheering them on, oblivious—or uncaring—that he was married.
I confronted him when he stumbled in past midnight, smelling of wine and expensive food. I held up my phone, the post glowing between us. “Happy anniversary,” I said bitterly.
His face drained of color. “It’s not what it looks like,” he stammered.
“Then what is it?” I snapped, my voice breaking. “Because while I sat here waiting for you, she was posting about celebrating five years together. The same five years I’ve been your wife.”
He reached for me, but I stepped back. “I never meant for you to find out like this,” he muttered.
“Like this?” I laughed bitterly through tears. “You mean the world finding out before your wife?”
The silence between us was heavier than any shouting could be.
I didn’t sleep that night. I stayed up staring at the photos, memorizing the look in his eyes—the same look he once had for me, now reserved for someone else.
The next morning, I packed a bag. He begged, cried, promised it was over. But his words meant nothing compared to her pictures. Because pictures don’t lie.
Final Thought
Some betrayals come in whispers, hidden behind closed doors. Others come in public posts, tagged for the world to see. My husband didn’t just forget our anniversary—he gave it to someone else. And when his mistress celebrated five years of love online, I realized the truth: while I thought I was his only story, I was just his cover.
