Love Sank In Marriage

Aaron popped up at the florist's while I was busy setting up a proposal bouquet.

He hung back by the window, too cool to come inside, just motioning for me to step out.

Flowers were never his thing, nor was he thrilled about my little shop—defiance of his wishes post-marriage.

The compromise? Playing along with a ruse that we couldn't have kids.

I agreed, and that got his reluctant nod.

As I approached him, Aaron passed me a bag, saying, "Check this out—Lily and I picked something out for you."

I hesitated to accept it.

Lily, unable to sit still, leaned out from the passenger side with a smirk. "Don't sweat it, Jane. Aaron's just been a lifesaver to us single moms lately."

Aaron gestured for me to take the gift.

As he stepped closer, I noticed a subtle blush on his neck.

And there it was—a lipstick mark on his collar, identical to the one Lily was wearing.

Images of Lily's last message flashed through my mind—Aaron consoling a crying woman in his arms.

I could easily imagine how intimate they were when they were alone.

I stood resolute against the cold wind, quashing any last shred of peace Aaron might have hoped for.

In frustration, he dropped the bag at my feet.

Contents scattered—a purse, identical to the one Lily carried, in my favorite brand but the color I despised.

"No thanks, I don't like it."

Five years of marriage boiled down to being nothing more than someone's stand-in.

Lily had his devotion; I was left with hollow gestures.

Gifts from Aaron were rare, usually just token anniversary offerings.

For the past four years, I'd accepted them, whether I liked them or not, convinced they were tokens of his affection.

Now, I expected nothing.

No longer eager to measure my worth through his eyes.

Nor was I interested in dissecting his relationship with Lily.

When love fades, clarity arrives.

I met Aaron's detached gaze, and said plainly, "Aaron, let's get a divorce."

"Stop with the drama, we've got a reunion and you're coming. Let's go," he scoffed.

He noted my chilled, pale face—his eyes briefly showing concern.

He didn't wait for a refusal, just pulled me into the car.

Lily offered a guilty smile, "Oops, didn't realize you were coming, Jane. Took your spot."

Aaron glanced at me in the rearview, nonchalant, "No worries, she prefers the back anyway."

I was always the one who sat in the backseat of our relationship.

In the pecking order of Aaron's affections, I was also always an afterthought.

His life, his priorities, revolved around Lily.

He told me not to mind.

So, I didn't.

Yet, Lily had stood between us like a gap for many years, unbridgeable and unfixable.

I remained silent, simply gazing out the window.

Their laughter and reminiscing filled the car.

We stopped at a restaurant, and the teasing started as soon as we walked in,

"Man, Aaron, you two are thick as thieves. Maybe ditch the wife and marry Lily?"

"Seriously, you could be a dad without the hassle!"

"Emma is too cute. If you don't step up, I might!"

...

Lily's cheeks turned pink.

"Cut it out, guys, Jane's right here," she said, linking arms with me, all smiles. "It's just a joke, we've always ribbed them like this."

Aaron intervened, half-heartedly, "Alright, enough."

Inside the private dining room, his friend Greg called out, "Aaron's late, that's three shots as a penalty."

Lily reached for a glass but Aaron tenderly took it from her, admonishing gently, "Remember your allergy."

Greg added, "Yeah, wasn't it you who ended up in the hospital trying to stop him from drinking?"

Aaron just smiled and downed the shot in one go.

He then thrust the glass towards me, his look stern, "Jane, since you're finally out, have a drink and fit in a bit."

It was Aaron's first time introducing me to his circle after years of excuses for not taking me out to meet his friends.

I put the glass down on the table, smiling politely, "Sorry, guys, I'm allergic too."

Aaron's face fell immediately.

"Jane, you pleaded to be here, and now you pull this?"

"If you won't drink, you can just get outta here."

I heard it before, and it echoed a night six years back when I found him drunk, heartbroken over a past love.

I'd grabbed his drink, unwilling to watch him spiral.

His drunken gaze fixed on me:

"Drink this, and I'll go with you. If you won't drink, you can just get outta here."

Without hesitating, I drank it, and darkness followed.

I awoke in a hospital.

I confessed, and he accepted.

A year later, we were married.

I thought it was the culmination of four years of unspoken love.

Now, I realized I might have just been a familiar face from his past.

My voice empty, I told him, "Have fun tonight."

Lily hugged Aaron, challenging me with her eyes,

"You really should adjust that attitude, Jane. Aaron apologized, why the fuss? No wonder people don't respect you. Always jealous, that's not what Aaron wants."

I looked away, indifferent,

"If that's the case, we should just get a divorce."

As I turned to leave, Aaron's voice thundered behind me,

"Jane, if you walk out, don't bother coming back."

That sentence felt like a release.

I had always feared solitude.

But during our six years together, that fear was overshadowed by the dread of losing him.

I had thought I couldn't handle the weight of those words, yet, hearing them now, I felt liberated.

I no longer needed to cling to a man who didn't love me.

I no longer feared the loss of something I never really had.

...

I remained silent.

Cautiously not to disturb anyone inside.

I gently opened the door, then quietly closed it.

The room buzzed with noise.

"Go after her, Aaron!"

"We may not like her much, but you're still married."

"She's too petty. You need someone classy like Lily."

"Forget her, let's just drink!"

...

On my way home, Lily texted me a picture of them all having a blast.

[Better off without you.]

[Jane, Aaron has always loved me. You were always the odd one out.]

[Take the hint already.]

Her message dripped with scorn and triumph.

I texted back: [No need for advice, trash belongs in the trash.]

Then I blocked her.

This marriage was a mistake from the get-go.

Five years of trying too hard to please.

I was done playing the fool.