“I’ve been sick of you since our wedding night! You disgust me! Leave me alone!” my husband spat out right on our anniversary.
Id spent ages picking the perfect restaurant for our second anniversary. I wanted something extraordinarynot just a pretty place with good food, but somewhere where every detail would make the evening unforgettable.
In the end, I chose *The Golden Pheasant*a new spot in a historic townhouse with stained-glass windows and antique chandeliers.
Anthony wrinkled his nose when I showed him the photos.
“Why all the fuss? We could just sit somewhere quiet. Who needs this cheap show?”
But I stood my ground. I invited sixty guests, booked musicians and a host. After that horrific car crash six months ago, I wanted a proper celebrationsomething bright, joyful, memorable.
The preparations took weeks.
I double-checked everythingthe decorations, the menu, the evenings schedule, the guest favours. I wanted it to be perfect.
Maybe because it was the first big event since Id been released from hospital. Or maybe because I wanted this anniversary to stand out in every wayeven the setting.
I smoothed the folds of my deep violet dress and glanced at the clock. Guests would start arriving any minute. Anthony stood by the window, staring absently at the street. In the glass, I could see the tightness in his jaw.
“Penny for your thoughts?” I asked, stepping closer.
“Nothing,” he muttered, shrugging. “Just hate these things. So much hassle for what? A performance of happiness?”
I stayed quiet. Two years of marriage had taught me not to rise to his jabs. Especially not tonightnot on the evening Id spent months planning.
***
My parents arrived first. Dad, as always, looked effortlessly polished. Mum wore a new dusty rose dress that suited her beautifully. She rushed over and hugged me tightly the moment she stepped in.
“Im just so glad youre here, darling. After that accident, I thought Id lose my mind”
“Mum, not now,” I said softly. “Tonights for happy memories. We agreed, remember?”
Next came colleagues from Dads firmwhere Anthony and I both workedfriends, relatives. I greeted everyone with a smile, but I kept an eye on my husband. He stood apart, sipping whiskeyuncharacteristic for him. He usually avoided alcohol, even at big events.
Eleanor Whitmore, our head accountant, came over to say hello. I noticed her face pale slightly when I turned to her. Probably remembering her visits to the hospitalme hooked up to machines, doctors giving no guarantees.
“Charlotte, you look radiant,” she said with a stiff smile. “Especially after everything youve been through!”
“Thank you,” I replied. “You look lovely too.”
Something in her gaze unsettled me. But I brushed it off. There was no point dwelling on itnot yet.
The evening unfoldedspeeches, music, dancing. To an outsider, it mightve seemed perfect. But I felt the tension building.
Anthony kept to himself, only occasionally speaking to colleagues. Every now and then, hed shoot Eleanor a lookand shed pretend not to notice.
I approached him with a smile. “Shall we dance? It *is* our party.”
“Not now,” he dismissed me. “Heads spinning.”
“Somethings off with you tonight.”
“Just tired. You know I hate crowds. Stop overanalysing!”
***
The evening rolled on. The hosta sharp-dressed young mankept the energy high.
I watched it all, careful not to show my nerves. Only I knew just how special this night would be. I just had to wait for the right moment.
Anthony remained distant, forcing smiles when necessary. I caught his fleeting glances at Eleanor but pretended to be absorbed in the festivities. Each one twisted something inside me, but I kept smiling, accepting congratulations.
“Charlotte, were just *so* relieved youre better!” gushed the deputy directors wife. “It was terrifying when we heard about the crash.”
“Yes, awful business,” her friend chimed in. “But youre through it now, thank God!”
I nodded, thanked thembut my mind drifted back to those hospital days. Hazy fragmentsvoices, footsteps, monitors beeping.
“Darling, everythings just *wonderful*!” Mum squeezed my shoulders, pulling me back. “And you look stunning tonight! Absolutely magical!”
“Thanks, Mum.”
“Only” She hesitated. “Anthony seems tense. Everything alright?”
“Fine,” I said lightly. “Hes never been one for big parties.”
Just then, Dad joined us, slipping an arm around Mum. “Whats the whispering about?”
“Girl talk,” I deflected.
“Sweetheart,” Dad said warmly, “Im so proud of you. The way youve handled everythingyoure a fighter.”
I hugged him tightly, hiding my face against his shoulder. He didnt know half of what Id endured. And I hoped he never would.
A slow song startedthe same one Anthony and I had danced to at our wedding.
I hurried over to him. “Dance with me? Like we did two years ago?”
He flinched. “Charlotte, I *said* I dont want to dance. Are you trying to provoke me?”
“Why would I? Whats *wrong*?”
“Nothings wrong! Just leave me alone!”
His harshness froze me in place.
A second later, I saw Eleanor hurry outand Anthony followed. Waiting a beat, I went after them.
They stood in the empty corridor, voices low. At my approach, both fell silent.
“Whats going on?” I asked evenly.
“Nothing important,” Eleanor said, forcing a smile. “Just work talk.”
“At our *anniversary*?”
“Charlotte, *enough*,” Anthony snapped.
“*Me*? *Youve* been off all night. I dont understand”
We returned to the ballroom. Music blared, guests danced. Dad was making another toast. Eleanor avoided my eyes, but I saw her hands tremble as she lifted her glass.
“Anthony, talk to me,” I tried again. “Whats really happening?”
“I dont *want* to! Just *stop*!” His voice rose.
“But I *need* to”
“*Back off!*” He spun on me.
At that exact moment, the music cut out. The room fell silent. And in that silence, his words landed like a verdict:
“Ive been sick of you since our wedding night! You *disgust* me! Leave me *alone*!”
***
His words hit like a slap. For a second, the room swayed. Time seemed to freezeguests stunned, Eleanor white-faced, Anthony glaring.
I exhaled slowly. *There it was.* The moment Dad and I had waited for.
Oddly, I didnt feel painjust relief. Like a weight lifting. A faint smirk touched my lips as I gave the host the slightest nod.
The lights dimmed. The screen at the front flickered to life.
Black-and-white footagea hospital room, machines beeping. Me, unconscious, tangled in wires. The date blinked in the corner: three months ago.
I remembered when Dad first showed me this. A week after Id come home. Hed hesitated before playing it.
“Forgive me, darlingI had to monitor your care,” hed said.
On screen, the door creaked open. Two figures slipped inAnthony and Eleanor. Moving like thieves.
“Quiet,” she whispered. “What if she wakes?”
“She wont,” Anthony replied, almost smug. “Doctors said shes got no chance.”
The room was so silent you could hear a pin drop. Guests stared, horrified. Anthonys knuckles whitened on his chair.
On screen, he pulled Eleanor closekissing her hungrily, right by my hospital bed.
“Everythings falling into place,” he murmured between kisses. “Now we can be together. Just a little longer”
“Anthony, *wait*,” she pushed back. “What if your wife *lives*?”
“She wont. Odds are zero. This went exactly as planned. You know I *always* plan ahead.”
The tape rolled ontheir whispered schemes, dividing my shares, their long-running affair. It had started *before* our wedding.
I remembered Dads shaking hands when he first played this. His apology for not seeing Anthonys true colours sooner. Our careful planning for *this* night.
I paused the footage on the most damning shotthem entwined, my monitors blinking faintly in the background.
Silence.
***
Mum broke it first. Her shriek cut the air:
“*My God How could you?!*”
She lunged for Anthony, but Dad held her back.
Eleanor tried to slip outbut security, arranged by Dad, blocked her path.
The room eruptedguests pointing, gasping.
“Thisthis isnt what it looks like,” Anthony stammered, though his hands shook
