“You’ve disgusted me since day one,” her husband said. On their anniversary, she just smiled.
The words hung in the air like poison gas, filling every corner of the restaurant that had once been their special place.
Natasha Williams sat perfectly still, her dark skin glowing under soft candlelight, her hands folded neatly on the white tablecloth.
The smile never left her lips, even as her world crumbled around her like a house of cards in a hurricane.
Ten years. Ten years of marriage, of shared dreams, of building a life together—and Ryan was telling her that every single day had been a lie. “Did you hear me, Natasha?”
Ryan’s voice cut through her thoughts.
His blue eyes were cold, colder than she’d ever seen them.
“I said you’ve disgusted me since day one. Since the moment I said, ‘I do.’ I’ve regretted it.”
The other diners continued their conversations, unaware that a woman’s heart was being torn apart just three tables away. The soft jazz music kept playing.
The candles kept flickering. Life went on even as Natasha stopped.
“I heard you,” she said quietly, her voice steady despite the earthquake happening inside her chest. “I’m just wondering why you chose today to tell me this.”
Ryan laughed, but there was no humor in it.
“Because I can’t pretend anymore.
Because Monica and I are tired of sneaking around. Because you deserve to know the truth.”
Monica.
Her best friend since college. The woman who had been her maid of honor.
The woman who had held her hand through her mother’s funeral. The woman who had been coming to their house for dinner every Sunday for the past ten years.
“How long?” Natasha asked, though part of her already knew the answer would destroy her.
“Two years,” Ryan said, not even having the decency to look ashamed. “Two years of actually being happy.
Two years of being with someone who doesn’t bore me to tears.”
Natasha’s smile grew wider, and for a moment Ryan looked confused.
He had expected tears. He had expected screaming.
He had expected her to fall apart right there in front of everyone.
Instead, she looked almost pleased.
“Two years,” she repeated, nodding slowly. “And you’ve been planning this conversation for how long?”
“Does it matter?” Ryan snapped.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
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