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I stayed in the kitchen, surveying the candles I had burned with care, the silverware laid out on the table and the roses, still pungent in their vase.

Today is our anniversary night, it's been three long years. I'd been counting down the minutes, or rather not, but praying under my breath we'd finally make it together tonight. It hadn't been an easy year, but I'd stayed true.

Dominic and I had known each other so many years ago in a world of stolen kisses and whispered promises, and then it had felt like magic. The sort of love you read about in books. And so when my marriage had lost its heat and its passion, I had hoped that perhaps we could turn it around. That this evening could be our new beginning.

I smoothed my dress, a soft slip of satin that I was certain would catch his eye. It was demure, but I had never been the flashy sort, never hungry for attention. He had liked that about me once. He had adored it and sadly, I had assumed that never would change.

Within me, a growing restlessness gnawed at my belly. I glanced at the clock, 7:15 PM. Dominic was supposed to be home by now. A part of me had grown accustomed to his lateness, his apologies. Sometimes work, sometimes an unexpected meeting, sometimes just... nothing. But tonight was different. I wished tonight to be perfect. I wanted him to see me, the woman he once loved, and not the person I had become in his life.

And then the door creaked open.

My heart leaped in my chest, a fleeting burst of pleasure taking over.

Finally, He was home. But no sooner had Dominic entered the room than my insides plummeted.

Dominic was not alone. He had one arm around the woman, a woman who was so stunning that she was almost unbelievable. She was dressed in red, the kind that sets your head aflame and makes you suspicious. She had legs that seemed to stretch on into infinity, lips glossed a deep red to match her dress, and eyes that burned with the certainty of one who had already claimed what was hers. Her loveliness was breathtaking, almost blinding.

I did not know her, but the look in her eyes told it all. She was not a friend. She was not an acquaintance. No, she was something else, something that Dominic had chosen instead of me.

My breath hitched as Dominic's gaze swept over me, unemotional and easy. The coldness I was accustomed to. No remorse. No remorse. He didn't even appear to care about the impact of his actions.

"Liana, this is Bella," he said, his voice too easy for the moment, as if introducing her was as mundane as ordering dinner. "She's been keeping me company for the past few months."

I stayed in the kitchen, gazing at candles I had carefully trimmed, the silverware laid out on the table, and the roses, still so pungently fragrant in the vase.

Tonight is our anniversary night. Three long years. I'd been counting down the minutes or at least pretending not to, I had praying under my breath that we'd finally make it together tonight. It hadn't been an easy year, but I had remained faithful. Even when he hadn't.

Dominic and I had met over a decade ago, in the most unlikely of places of all, a bookstore. I was bent between the rows of shelves, reaching for a book that I could not find, and he'd placed it in my hand with his twisted grin. That is where it all started.

Love that blossomed in verse, in coffee slowly brewed, and in vows spoken under quilts shared. It was like magic then, the sort you read of in those same books. And so, even when the storms came when passion began to wilt and trust grew thin, I hung on. I felt I owed it to our beginning. To the love we'd had.

But the last year has been brutal. Dominic had changed. The late nights, the lies, the smell of another perfume on his clothes. He was a stranger sleeping beside me, a man I no longer knew. He was emotionally unavailable, cruel sometimes, and unapologetically unfaithful. Each time I confronted him, he'd gaslight me, twist the truth, make me feel insane for even wondering.

Worst of all were the tantrums; the cold, deliberate words that cut deeper than any physical blow ever could. I was his mental punching bag. Quiet and submissive. And later, I became his physical punching bag.

In the midst of this,I was always hoping he'd come back to the husband I wedded. But that husband was dead and buried.

Tired, I finally had the courage to hire a lawyer. I'd gotten the divorce through from my own end but still, still some stupid part of me had thought there was more room to try.

One more chance at fixing what we had and our anniversary gave us a perfect opportunity. I was more than willing to try one more chance at turning it around.

I had put on a soft slip of satin; quiet and plain, like me. He had always loved that I wasn't flashy, that I didn't compete for attention. He had said that I was his peace. I thought that was something.

The clock kept ticking. 7:15 PM. He ought to be home by now. But he never was punctual these days, and his reasons had become shallow. But still, I waited. I prayed.

And then the door creaked open.

My heart leapt in my chest, a flash of hope. Finally, he was home.

But no sooner had Dominic entered the room than that hope fell apart.

He wasn't alone.

He had his arm slung over a woman, so lovely, so perfectly styled she was painted-on. She was dressed in red, the kind that sets your head aflame and makes you suspicious. She had legs that seemed to stretch on into infinity, lips glossed a deep red to match her dress, and eyes that burned with the certainty of one who had already claimed what was hers. Her loveliness was breathtaking, almost blinding.