The Forgotten Anniversary
Margaret smoothed the white linen tablecloth on the kitchen table, her fingers trembling from exhaustion and anticipation. Today marked twenty-five years since she and Edward had marriedtheir silver anniversaryand she had spent the morning preparing a special supper. On the stove, a duck roasted with apples and honey, while rosemary potatoes baked in the oven. Pomegranate seeds, which Edward adored for their tartness, lay scattered on the cutting board like rubies. The kitchen smelled of spices, vanilla from the pear tart, and the faint smoke of three candles in brass holders. A bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon stood on the table, the very same they had shared at their weddingMargaret had specially ordered it from the wine merchant. She wore a navy-blue dress with a lace collar, let down her hair from its usual bun, and even dabbed scarlet lipstick on her lips, something she hadnt done in years.
She glanced at the pendulum clock above the fridge8:15 p.m. Edward had promised to be home by seven. She dialled his number, but the automated voice replied coldly that the subscriber was unavailable. Her chest tightened, but she brushed the worry aside, stirring the creamy sauce. “Stuck at the factory,” she told herself, adjusting the roses in the vase.
The door slammed, and in rushed Emily, their twenty-three-year-old daughter, visiting for the weekend from the neighbouring town where she worked as a designer. Her auburn curls were windswept, and she clutched a canvas bag and a bouquet of yellow chrysanthemums.
“Mum, Im here!” Emily called, kicking off her trainers and nearly dropping the bag. “Blimey, what a spread! Is it your anniversary?”
Margaret smiled, taking the flowers and inhaling their earthy scent.
“Aye, twenty-five years. Your father said hed be back by seven, but hes likely tangled up at work.”
Emily snorted, hanging her leather jacket on the hook.
“Typical Dad. Always at that factory. Need help with anything?”
“Set out the wine and glasses,” Margaret said, though her voice wavered. She checked the clock again8:30. The duck was cooling, the sauce thickening, and the candles dripped wax onto the linen.
By nine, Margaret sat at the table, fiddling with a napkin embroidered with initialsa wedding gift from her late aunt. Across from her, Emily scrolled through her phone, trying to lighten the stifling silence.
“Mum, maybe ring him again?” she suggested, sipping tea from her cat-printed mug.
Margaret shook her head, lips pressed tight.
“Its no use, Emily. He forgot. Again.”
Emily frowned, setting her phone aside.
“Dont jump to conclusions. Hes probably swamped. You know how it ishes the foreman, always something breaking down. He called yesterday saying a machine had packed up.”
Margaret gripped the napkin until her knuckles whitened.
“Swamped? Emily, its our anniversary! Ive been cooking all day, put on this dress, and he couldnt even call!”
The door creaked, and Edward walked in. His grey coat was rumpled, his hair dishevelled, shadows dark beneath his eyes. In his hand was a worn briefcaseno flowers, no smile.
“Evening,” he muttered, setting the briefcase by the wall. “Whats all this? Some occasion?”
Margaret froze, her eyes widening as if hed struck her.
“Some occasion? Edward, its our twenty-fifth anniversary!”
Edward went pale, the briefcase nearly slipping from his grip.
“Bloody hell, Maggie I forgot. The factorys chaosmachines down, reports due”
Margaret stood, her voice trembling like a plucked string.
“Forgot? Ive been cooking all day, waiting, lighting candles! And you couldnt care less!”
Edward tossed his coat onto a chair, brow furrowed.
“Care less? Maggie, Im breaking my back to provide! And you start a row over a bloody dinner!”
Emily coughed, trying to intervene.
“Come on, no fighting. Dad, sit down, eat. Mum, he didnt mean to.”
But Margaret turned on her, eyes flashing.
“Didnt mean to? Emily, its always like this! I give everything to this family, and he acts like its nothing!”
Edward slammed his palm on the table, rattling the glasses.
“Nothing? Im at the factory by six every morning, Maggie! And youre never happy, always demanding more!”
The supper meant for celebration became a battlefield, every plate a landmine waiting to explode.
The next morning dawned with silence as thick as November fog outside. Margaret brewed coffee, avoiding Edwards gaze. He sat at the table, flipping through the local paper, fingers nervously creasing the corners. Emily, sensing the tension, spread butter on toast.
“Mum, that duck last night was brilliant,” she said between bites. “Shall we finish it? Ill make a salad.”
Margaret grunted, not turning from the stove.
“Help yourself. Im not hungry.”
Edward set the paper aside, voice weary.
“Maggie, enough sulking. I messed up, forgot. But you went straight for the jugular.”
Margaret whirled around, her spoon clinking against the mug.
“The jugular? Edward, I put in all that effortthe dress, the wine! And you waltzed in like it was any other night! Does this family even matter to you?”
Edward stood, voice rising.
“Matter? Ive slaved at that factory for twenty years for us! And you nitpick everythingwhat I say, what I do! Im not made of steel, Maggie!”
Emily raised her hands, curls bouncing.
“Stop! Youre acting like children. Mum, Dads exhausted, I can see it. Dad, Mums hurtshe tried so hard. Just talk, yeah?”
But Margaret shook her head, tears glistening.
“Talk? Emily, you always take his side. What about me? Ive given everythingcooking, cleaning, sacrificing! And what do I get? Nothing!”
Emilys voice sharpened.
“Mum, dont lay it on so thick. Dads only humanhe cant remember everything. And Im not taking sides, but hes run ragged!”
Margarets cheeks flushed.
“Lay it on thick? Emily, seriously? Ive done everything for youstayed up when you were ill, drove you to clubs! And now you side with him?”
Edward rubbed his temples.
“Maggie, I dont want to fight. But you expect perfection. And Im afraid to disappoint you. Afraid of your judgment.”
Margarets anger wavered, pain seeping in. She remembered their wedding dance in the rain, Edward whispering hed give her the stars. Back then, anything seemed possible. Now they argued over cold duck.
That afternoon, Margaret wandered the supermarket for distraction. The shelves of rice and spices soothed her like an old ritual. She reached for a packet but paused at a bottle of Cabernetthe same as last night. Her chest ached. She recalled their first anniversary, when money was tight, but Edward gave her a heart-shaped locket, and she baked a lopsided cake. Theyd laughed till they cried in their first rented flat.
In the queue, she bumped into their neighbour, Doris, a woman with a booming laugh and a nose for gossip.
“Maggie, why the long face? Wasnt it your anniversary? Did you celebrate?”
Margaret sighed, clutching the rice.
“We did. Edward forgot. Turned up at nine, didnt even call.”
Doris tutted, earrings jingling.
“Men, eh? Mine forgot till I stuck a calendar to his forehead. But your Edwards a good sort, Maggie. Just stretched thin. Talk to himwithout the shouting.”
Margaret nodded, but inside, she ached. She didnt just want talkshe wanted to be heard.
Meanwhile, Edward sat in his factory office, the air thick with machine oil and vending-machine coffee. His coworker, old Bill, a grizzled mechanic with a perpetual cigarette, flipped through a magazine.
“Ed, why the long face? Anniversary, wasnt it? Have a good one?”
Edward sighed, eyeing the stack of reports.
“Not exactly. Forgot. Maggie had this whole dinner I was at the hospitalblood pressure spiked. Didnt tell her, didnt want to worry her. Now shes furious.”
Bill chuckled.
“Blimey. Your Maggies a gem, and you go and do that. Tell her the truth, mate. Shell understand.”
Edward nodded, but his chest felt heavy. He feared not just her anger, but her seeing him as a failure again.
That evening, Emily orchestrated a truce. She reheated the duck, made an avocado salad, dug out an old photo album, and even lit new candles from her mothers stash. But as they sat down, the silence was leaden.
“Right
