The kids didn’t come for our anniversary—and that was the start of a whole new life. We finally remembered what it means to be happy.
It had been years since Emily got married, and with each one, the distance between us grew wider. It felt like she’d erased us from her life. Calls became rare, visits even rarer. And when we did meet, her eyes were distant, like we were strangers.
That Friday, I hesitated before dialing her number. Victor and I were planning a quiet celebration—thirty years of marriage. Just a simple family gathering, a barbecue in the garden, everyone around the table. I wanted warmth, familiar voices, even if just for a few hours…
“Hello?” Emily finally answered, sounding out of breath.
“Love, it’s Mum. Are you at the gym again? Is this a good time?”
“No, Mum, I’m washing Paul’s car.”
“Why you?”
“Who else, Mum? Taking it to the car wash costs a fortune. I’m not made of glass.”
“Right, sweetheart… Listen, I was thinking—why don’t you and Paul come over on Sunday? It’s our anniversary. We could have a nice chat, just us.”
“Since when do you celebrate anniversaries?” She chuckled. “Midlife crisis hitting hard, eh?”
“Thirty years, Emily. How could we not?”
“Sorry, Mum. Can’t do it. We’ve got a wedding—Paul’s mate Jack’s tying the knot. There’s only one wedding, but you’ll have more anniversaries.”
I gripped the phone, fighting back the lump in my throat.
“That’s a shame… We were really hoping—”
“Me too, Mum. But you can’t say no to people, can you? Don’t take it to heart—we’ll make it up to you.”
“Alright,” I whispered, “I’ll try your brother, then.”
Matthew couldn’t make it either—he had plans. By the time I hung up, the tears came without warning. Like a child denied a sweet. Like a mother forgotten.
“Jenny, love, what’s wrong?” Victor walked in, finding me quietly crying at the kitchen table.
“It’s nothing, Vic… The kids aren’t coming. And here I was, silly old me, dreaming of us all together…”
“Hey, enough of that. It’s our day. You and me—that’s enough.”
That night, I lay awake, bitterness choking me. Everything inside screamed, *Why? Why don’t they need me? Didn’t we do enough? We raised them, helped with uni, supported them—now we’re strangers…*
“Jen,” Victor murmured, “they’ve got their own lives. But you’ve got me. And I’m right here.”
“It just feels empty, Vic…” was all I could say. “You’re at work all day, and I’m alone…”
The next day, he came home early, grinning.
“What’s happened?”
From behind his back, he pulled out the biggest bouquet.
“These are for you. And tomorrow—we’re going to the Lake District. A whole week. Just you and me.”
The cottage was like something from a storybook—wooden beams, a view of the water, flowers everywhere, birds singing. I woke to the smell of roses, the bed scattered with petals. Balloons hung in the corners, and on the mirror, scribbled in lipstick: *”Happy anniversary, love!”*
I barely held back happy tears. Then I glanced out the window and saw Victor holding a basket. He opened it—and a tiny *”mew”* escaped. A little ginger fluffball peered up at me with big eyes.
“So, ready to welcome the newest family member?” He grinned like a schoolboy.
“Vic… This is the best anniversary I’ve ever had.”
That week felt like a second honeymoon. Seven days, but enough memories to last a lifetime. And when we got back—our phones were blowing up.
“Mum! Where have you been?! We’ve been calling! Your phone was off!”
“Calm down, love. Dad and I were away. We’re allowed a little time for ourselves, you know.”
“Of course… It’s just—you didn’t call, didn’t worry…”
“Now it’s your turn to worry. Dad and I have decided to live for *us* now.”
“For you? Mum, are you serious?”
“Honeymoon phase, darling. And right now, you lot aren’t part of it.”
A year on, Victor and I live differently. He retired, we downsized—but we’re happier. The kids call more, visit more. And when we look at each other, we thank fate for not letting us fade away. For reminding us: the most important thing in this life? *Us.*
