The Wife He Never Learned To Love

The Empty Dining Table  

Sophia heard the front door creak open. She was off the couch before she even thought about it, her pulse jumped as she rushed toward the hallway. 

“Adrian,” she whispered. “Adrian!”  

He's going down the staircase 

She's followed him

"Where are you going Adrian?"

He keeps moving 

"Adrian, I'm talking to you, answer me."

He stops and turns to her, she bumps into him cause he stopped abruptly 

"What do you want, woman?" He asked 

"What do I want? What do I want? Adrian I'm your wife, I deserve to know where you are going."

"You don't deserve to know anything, I married you, I gave you a comfortable home, food, what else do you want to know? My schedule? Behave yourself."

He's keep moving downstairs still he was at  door then he stop.

"Adrian, do you even know what today is?"

"No, and I don't care to know."

The door slams shut in her face .

 The sound cracked through the empty house.  

For a second she just stood there. Then she slid down against the wall until she was sitting on the floor, shaking, each breath felt heavier than the last. She covered her mouth to muffle the sound, because she was used to this. But it still hurts. Every single time.  

Her phone buzzed beside her. She picked it up, her grip tightened around the phone, wiping her eyes.  

Hoping it was from Adrian it's not. A message from her mom wishing her a happy anniversary.

She stared at the screen. Whatever hope she had disappeared.  

Sophia sat by herself at the head of the long dining table. Her fork dragged slowly across the plate. The sound bounced around the big, empty room like a quiet complaint. The candle in the middle had melted into a sad puddle of white wax. Its flame was small and flickering. She looked at her phone again. 11:47 PM. Still nothing.  

She pushed a piece of cold steak around the plate, then put the fork down with a soft clink. Her eyes went to the empty chair across from her. The one with the neatly folded napkin and the untouched glass of wine.  

"Happy anniversary," she said quietly. Her voice barely made it past the forks and knives. She gave the empty seat a small, bitter smile. "Five years. You remembered, right?"  

No answer, of course. Just the hum of the fridge in the kitchen and the far-off tick of the grandfather clock in the hall.  

Sophia reached for her wine. Her fingers touched the glass, then she pulled back. Instead, she twisted her wedding ring around her finger, once, twice, three times. The platinum band felt tighter tonight, like it was squeezing her finger.  

She stood up fast. Her heels clicked hard against the marble floor as she walked to the tall windows that looked over the driveway. The yard outside was dark and empty. No headlights. No sign of Adrian’s black car.  

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass and closed her eyes for a second. "Come on," she whispered. "Just once. For tonight."  

Her phone buzzed on the table behind her. Sophia turned around so fast she almost lost her balance. She crossed the room almost running and grabbed it.  

Adrian: Sorry. Still in the office. Big deal closing. Go to sleep.  

She read the message twice. She stared at the keyboard for a long moment before typing. Her shoulders got tense. She typed back fast, fingers moving quickly.  

Sophia: I waited until midnight. The food is cold now. The cake you like from that bakery downtown.  

She hit send, then stared at the screen, hoping for a reply. She waited for a reply that never came.  

Sophia set the phone down harder than she meant to. It landed with a soft thud next to her plate. She looked at the meal she’d made, the steak she’d cooked exactly how he liked it, the roasted potatoes that had gone dry and sad under the warmer, the small chocolate cake with “Happy Anniversary” written on it in pretty letters.  

She clenched her teeth. She picked up her plate with both hands and took it to the trash bin. The lid opened with a soft whoosh. In one move, the dinner she'd spent hours preparing disappeared into the trash in seconds.  

She grabbed the fork and scraped the plate clean with quick, mad strokes. The fork-on-plate sound filled the kitchen. When she was done, she dropped the fork into the sink. It clattered loudly.  

The diamond flashed as she turned it between her fingers. Sophia stopped and stared at it. She twisted it one more time, then slowly pulled it off. The band stuck a little on her knuckle before sliding free. She held it between her thumb and finger, turning it so the diamond sparkled cold.  

"Five years," she whispered to the ring. "And you couldn’t even come home."  

She walked back to the table and set the ring right in the middle of her empty plate. It sat there, small and bright against the white plate. The candle next to it flickered, then the flame died, leaving only a thin trail of smoke.  

Sophia picked up her phone again. She typed another message, deleted it, then typed something shorter.  

Sophia: I waited until midnight. The ring is on the table. I’m going to bed.  

She sent it. Then she turned off the lights, one by one. The dining room went dark, except for the dim glow of the security lights outside. Her footsteps echoed as she walked up the wide stairs, one hand sliding along the shiny railing.  

Halfway up, she stopped. She thought she heard the front door, but it was just the house making noise. No footsteps. No keys jingling. No deep voice calling her name.  

She kept going to the master bedroom and pushed the door open. The bed felt made for two people, yet only one side had ever been warm. The pillows were all neat and perfect from the housekeeper. Sophia kicked off her heels and let them fall across the floor. She sat on the edge of the bed and stared at her bare finger where the ring used to be.  

Her phone buzzed again. She grabbed it fast, feeling hopeful even though she didn’t want to.  

Adrian: We’ll talk tomorrow. Get some rest.  

Sophia let out a shaky breath. She put the phone on the nightstand and lay still, unable to close her eyes. Her hands grabbed the sheets tight.  

"Tomorrow," she whispered to the empty room. "Right."  

She rolled onto her side and pulled the covers up around her shoulders. The silence pressed against her from every room.  

Downstairs, on that cold dining table, her wedding ring sat alone on the plate. It caught the moonlight coming through the windows. The ring stayed where she left it, untouched.  

For the first time in five years, she wondered if waiting had been a mistake.