I woke up to the gentle brush of lips on my cheek. Keon was already dressed, ready to rush out the door. His face held a mix of apology and urgency.
The early morning light barely touched the window panes, and I understood that once again he was leaving for work earlier than usual.
“I’m sorry, Zola,” he whispered, kissing me again.
“They moved the big meeting up to 9:00 a.m. I’ll try to get back as soon as I can.
I promise. Today is your day.
Our day.”
It was my 42nd birthday.
Not a milestone number or a grand anniversary, but Keon had always made a big deal out of my birthdays. In 18 years of marriage, he had never once forgotten to wish me well. He’d never failed to show me his attention, give me a gift, or offer that special look that said more than a thousand words.
“It’s fine,” I smiled, though a slight disappointment flickered inside.
“I get it.
Work is work.”
He kissed me one last time, this time on the lips, and I caught the familiar scent of his cologne, the one he’d worn for three years, the same one I’d bought him for our wedding anniversary. He hadn’t changed it since.
It was so typical of Keon to find something he liked and remain loyal to his choice.
“Tonight, we’ll have time just for the two of us,” he promised. “I’ll make your favorite dish and open that bottle of wine we always have for celebrations.
Everything will be perfect.”
When the front door closed behind him, I lay in bed for a while longer, staring at the ceiling.
Forty-two years old.
By that age, my mother had already had my younger sister and me. She’d established a career and bought a condo. And what had I accomplished in all these years?
Still, complaining would be a sin.
I had a husband who loved me, a solid job at a major insurance firm, and a home in a decent neighborhood in Atlanta, even if it wasn’t huge.
We could never have children, but Keon and I had accepted that a long time ago. Sometimes I felt that it had even brought us closer, just the two of us against the world, our small, unbreakable fortress.
I got up, took a shower, and brewed a strong cup of coffee.
A birthday on a weekday had always felt a little sad to me. Everyone is busy at work, caught up in their own lives, and you’re just there in the middle of your daily routine, trying to feel like it’s a special day.
The story doesn’t end here –
it continues on the next page.
TAP → NEXT PAGE → 👇
