The Forgotten Anniversary
Emily adjusted the white linen tablecloth in the dim kitchen, her fingers trembling with exhaustion and anticipation. Today was her and Jamess silver wedding anniversarytwenty-five yearsand she had spent all day preparing a feast. On the stove, a honey-glazed duck with apples simmered, while rosemary-roasted potatoes crackled in the oven. A bowl of pomegranate seeds glistened on the counterJames adored their tart sweetness. The kitchen smelled of cinnamon, vanilla from the pear tart, and the faint smoke of three candles in brass holders. A bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon, the very same theyd drunk at their wedding, stood proudly on the tableEmily had specially ordered it from the wine merchant. Shed put on her navy-blue dress with the lace collar, let down her usually pinned-up hair, and even swiped on scarlet lipstick, something she hadnt done in years.
The pendulum clock above the fridge read 8:15. James had promised to be home by seven. Emily dialled his number, but the automated voice coldly informed her he was unreachable. Her chest tightened, but she pushed the thought aside, stirring the creamy sauce. “Stuck at the factory,” she murmured, straightening the roses in their vase.
The door banged open, and in breezed Sophie, their twenty-three-year-old daughter, visiting from Birmingham where she worked as a graphic designer. Her auburn curls were windswept, and she carried a canvas tote and a bouquet of golden chrysanthemums.
“Mum, Im here!” she called, kicking off her trainers and nearly dropping the bag. “Blimey, look at this spread! Is it your anniversary?”
Emily smiled, accepting the flowers and breathing in their earthy scent.
“Twenty-five years. Your dad said hed be back by seven, but you know how he gets.”
Sophie snorted, hanging her leather jacket on the hook.
“Classic Dad. Always at that factory. Need a hand?”
“Set out the wine and glasses,” Emily said, but her voice wavered. She glanced at the clock again8:30. The duck was cooling, the sauce thickening, and the candles dripping wax onto the linen.
By nine, Emily sat at the table, twisting the embroidered napkina wedding gift from her late aunt. Opposite her, Sophie scrolled through her phone, trying to fill the suffocating silence.
“Mum, maybe call him again?” she suggested, sipping tea from her cat-printed mug.
Emily shook her head, lips pressed thin.
“Pointless, Sophie. He forgot. Again.”
Sophie frowned, setting her phone aside.
“Dont jump to conclusions. Hes probably swamped. You know how it is at the factoryalways something breaking down. He rang me yesterday saying a machine had packed up.”
Emily gripped a napkin so hard her knuckles whitened.
“Swamped? Sophie, its our anniversary! Ive been cooking all day, dressed up, and he cant even call?”
The door creaked, and James shuffled in. His grey coat was rumpled, hair dishevelled, shadows bruising his eyes. He carried a scuffed briefcaseno flowers, no smile.
“Alright,” he muttered, dropping the briefcase by the wall. “Whats all this? Some special occasion?”
Emily froze, her eyes widening as if hed struck her.
“Special occasion? James, its our twenty-fifth anniversary!”
James went pale, the briefcase slipping from his grip.
“Bloody hell, Em II forgot. The factorys chaos today. Machines down, paperwork”
Emily stood, her voice trembling like a plucked string.
“Forgot? Ive been cooking all day, waiting, lighting candles! And you couldnt care less!”
James tossed his coat onto a chair, brows furrowing.
“Care less? Em, Im killing myself so weve got a roof over our heads! And you start a row over dinner?”
Sophie coughed, trying to intervene.
“Guys, come on. Dad, sit down, eat. Mum, he didnt mean to.”
But Emily turned on her, eyes flashing.
“Didnt mean to? Sophie, he always does this! I give everything to this family, and he acts like its nothing!”
James slammed his palm on the table, making the glasses clink.
“Nothing? Em, Im at that factory by six every morning! And youre never happy, always nagging!”
The celebratory dinner had become a battleground, every plate a landmine waiting to explode.
Morning arrived heavy, the silence thick as the November fog outside. Emily brewed coffee, avoiding Jamess gaze. He sat at the table, skimming the local paper, fingers nervously crinkling the corners. Sophie, sensing the tension, spread butter on toast.
“Mum, that duck last night was proper lush,” she said between bites. “Fancy finishing it? Ill whip up a salad.”
Emily grunted, not turning from the stove.
“Help yourself. Im not hungry.”
James set the paper down, voice weary.
“Em, enough of the sulking. I messed up, forgot. But you went straight for the jugular.”
Emily spun around, her spoon clinking against the mug.
“Jugular? James, I put in all that effortdressed up, bought the wine! And you waltzed in like it was any other night! Do we even matter to you?”
James stood, voice rising.
“Matter? Ive slogged at that factory twenty years for us! And you pick at every little thingnever good enough! Im not made of steel, Em!”
Sophie threw up her hands, curls bouncing.
“Stop! Youre acting like kids. Mum, Dads knackered, I can see it. Dad, Mums hurtshe tried. Just talk, yeah?”
But Emily shook her head, eyes glistening.
“Talk? Sophie, you always take his side. What about me? Ive done everythingcooked, cleaned, sacrificed! And what do I get? Nothing!”
Sophies frown deepened, voice sharpening.
“Mum, dont guilt-trip. You do go overboard. Dads not a robothe cant remember everything. And Im not on his side, Im just saying hes shattered!”
Emily went still, cheeks flushing.
“Overboard? Seriously, Sophie? Ive given you everythingstayed up when you were ill, drove you to clubs! And now youre against me?”
James rubbed his temples, sighing.
“Em, I dont want to fight. But you expect perfection. And IIm scared of letting you down. Of your disapproval.”
Emily looked at him, anger dissolving into hurt. She remembered their wedding day, dancing in the rain, James whispering hed give her the stars. Back then, anything felt possible. Now they were arguing over cold duck.
That afternoon, Emily wandered the supermarket, soothed by the aisles of spices and tins. She grabbed a bag of rice, then frozea bottle of Cabernet, just like last nights, sat on the shelf. Her chest ached. She recalled their first anniversary, broke but happy, James gifting her a heart-shaped pendant, her baking a lopsided cake as they laughed on the floor of their first rented flat.
In the queue, she bumped into Margaret, their neighboura woman with a booming laugh and a nose for gossip.
“Emily, why the long face? Wasnt it your anniversary? Did you celebrate?”
Emily sighed, fiddling with the rice.
“We did. James forgot. Turned up at nine, didnt even ring.”
Margaret tutted, earrings jingling.
“Men, eh? Mine forgot till I stuck a calendar to his forehead. But your James is a good sort, love. Just stretched thin. Talk to himwithout the shouting.”
Emily nodded, but the hurt lingered. She didnt just want to talkshe wanted to be heard.
Meanwhile, James sat in his factory office, the air thick with machine oil and vending-machine coffee. His colleague, Pete, a grizzled mechanic with a perpetual cigarette, flipped through a magazine.
“Jim, you look like death. Anniversary, yeah? Howd it go?”
James exhaled, staring at the paperwork.
“Not great. Forgot. Em had this whole dinner I was at the hospitalblood pressure spiked. Didnt tell her, didnt want to worry her. Now shes furious.”
Pete snorted.
“Bloody hell, mate. Your Ems a gem, and you go and do that? Tell her the truth. Shell understand.”
James nodded, but the weight in his chest remained. He feared not just her anger, but her seeing him as a failureagain.
That evening, Sophie staged a “peace treaty.” She reheated the duck, tossed a new avocado salad, dug out an old photo album, even lit fresh candles pilfered from Emilys stash. But as they sat, the silence was leaden.
“Right,” Sophie said
