He Loved Me Only after My Heart No Longer for Him

Henry hadn’t come home for two days, while Anya’s taunting messages kept coming.

The one that stood out most was when she bragged, “In three days, Henry is throwing me a party for our two-year anniversary.”

My hands shook and I froze on the spot.

My mind went back to the anniversary of my first time with Henry. I had begged him for so long before he finally agreed to take me to the amusement park. But that day, he was distracted the whole time. When I asked him about it later, he scoffed, “I don’t see the point of you women celebrating these things all the time. Do you really think an anniversary can keep anything?”

My thoughts were cut short by the sound of my phone ringing. It was Henry calling.

I instinctively answered the call and the soft, breathless sounds of a man and woman tangled together came through.

Anya’s voice panted softly. “Henry, I want to wear a wedding dress on our second anniversary. Let me pretend to marry you, okay?”

Henry’s voice was breathless. “Sure. I’ll fuck you in your wedding dress, it’ll be something special.”

Anya giggled. “Hate it, Henry! Aren’t you afraid she will get jealous and make a scene?”

“If she gets upset, I’ll lock her in the basement, her son Andrew, too. Then no one will bother us.”

The disgusting voices made my stomach churn. I swallowed my nausea and hung up.

I stood, walked to Henry’s study and went to his computer. I typed in Anya’s birthday.

The screen unlocked.

I sneered. “Henry is really the same as before.”

In the three years when Henry and I loved each other most, he went from knowing nothing about love to becoming gentle and caring under my guidance. I taught him everything, even how to set phone screensavers and computer passwords.

Before he met Anya, Henry had been involved with other women, but those flings were nothing serious. I didn’t care, even when he used their birthdays as passwords.

But after meeting Anya, Henry changed completely.

I pushed my thoughts aside, drafted a divorce agreement and printed it in the study.

Suddenly, the paper in my hand slipped to the floor. When I bent to pick it up, I saw a broken piece of the table corner resting on a keepsake pouch.

I recognized it instantly; it was the blessing bag I had earned by climbing nine hundred and ninety-nine steps, kneeling to Henry with each step.

Now it lay tossed in a corner, treated like a piece of trash.

My heart trembled. My sincerity had been trampled without a thought. Eight years of feelings ended in that moment.