New Beginning from Betrayl

Nowadays, you might avoid a scam, but you couldn't escape life's little annoyances.

On our third wedding anniversary, I received a photo.

The man in the picture lay naked in a romantic suite, his face awash with the bliss of indulgence.

That man was none other than Howard Clark, the jerk I'd loved for seven years.

I stared deeply at his face, expecting a pang of heartache that never came, feeling surprisingly calm.

I tried asking Howard, "Honey, do you remember what day it is today?" My heart pounded with anxiety, fearing he might coldly reply, "It's Thursday."

Howard lifted his eyelids, glanced at me, and said sparingly, "It's our anniversary."

My expectations of him were always low. For instance, just remembering our third anniversary was enough to make me happy.

I breathed a sigh of relief, my expression relaxing considerably. "Tonight?" I looked at him expectantly.

"I'll be home early today," he said before leaving.

Not long after Howard left, I changed clothes and went out too. He loved fresh seafood, so I needed to buy the fresh catch delivered early from the pier to the market.

I wasn't interested in seafood myself; it was troublesome to prepare and difficult to eat-shrimp need peeling, fish need scaling and deboning.

But since Howard liked it, and they said the way to a man's heart was through his stomach, I had no choice but to embrace it.

Every time I watched him savor the dishes I made, I hoped he could love me just a little bit in return.

Just a little, I didn't ask for much, just a bit of love.

The entire morning, I busied myself with preparing the seafood. My hands suffered, with countless tiny cuts, but the thought of Howard enjoying the taste and satisfaction made it all worthwhile.

Around four-thirty in the afternoon, I prepared for the last dish, clam chowder.

After washing my hands several times with toothpaste and taking a shower, I used plenty of body wash to rid myself of any seafood smell.

Ironically, Howard's favorite food was seafood, yet he hated the smell of fresh seafood when they were raw, just like how he married me but didn't love me-completely the same.

After the shower, I put on the clothes and shoes I had chosen long ago for our third anniversary, carefully applied makeup, and wore the jewelry that best suited the day.

With everything ready, I sat at the dining table, full of anticipation, waiting for Howard to return, imagining what a wonderful night it would be.

As time ticked by, my mood gradually sank.

I called Howard, sent him messages, tried every way to reach him, but all my efforts were in vain.

Feeling stifled, I opened the window for some air.

Situations like this were not uncommon in our years of marriage. I just didn't expect it to happen on our third anniversary, after he had promised me.

Suddenly, my phone buzzed with a notification. I thought it was him and eagerly checked my phone, only to find it was his ex-girlfriend, Elin Begum.

A bad feeling crept over me. I mustered the courage, my fingers trembling as I unlocked the phone.

She sent me a photo of Howard.

At that moment, Howard lay naked on a themed bed, his cheeks flushed.

I stared deeply at his face, utterly convinced that the best seven years of my life had gone to waste, yet the expected heartache never came.

My heart was unexpectedly calm.

In the dimly lit room, candles flickered softly. I sat on the sofa, silently contemplating the relationship between Howard and me, or rather, among Howard, Elin, and me.

Around six in the morning, I saw Elin's post on social media, "What's mine, no one could take away," accompanied by a picture of a necklace.

I looked at the image of the necklace, the slogan of the necklace that could only be custom-made once in a man's lifetime according to the rule of the boutique. I laughed with bitterness.

When we got married, I wanted Howard to give me such a necklace, but he refused to use his only one chance for it.

Perhaps it was time to end all of this.