The Forgotten Anniversary
Elizabeth smoothed the white linen tablecloth in the kitchen, her fingers trembling from exhaustion and anticipation. Today marked her and Victors twenty-fifth wedding anniversarythe silver oneand shed spent the morning preparing a celebratory dinner. On the stove, a roast duck with apples and honey simmered, while rosemary potatoes baked in the oven. A bowl of pomegranate seeds, their tartness Victor adored, sat ready on the counter. 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, the same theyd toasted with at their wedding, stood proudly on the tableElizabeth had special-ordered it from the wine shop. Shed slipped into a navy-blue dress with a lace collar, let down her usually pinned-up hair, and even dabbed on scarlet lipstick, something she hadnt done in years.
She glanced at the pendulum clock above the fridge8:15 p.m. Victor had promised to be home by seven. Elizabeth dialed his number, but the automated voice coldly informed her he was unavailable. Her chest tightened, but she shook off the worry, stirring the creamy sauce. “Stuck at the factory,” she muttered, adjusting the vase of roses.
The door slammed open, and in rushed Emily, their twenty-three-year-old daughter, visiting for the weekend from the neighboring town where she worked as a designer. Her auburn curls were wind-tousled, and she clutched a canvas tote and a bunch of yellow chrysanthemums.
“Mum, Im here!” Emily called, kicking off her trainers and nearly dropping the bag. “Blimey, look at this spread! Is it your anniversary?”
Elizabeth smiled, taking the flowers and breathing in their crisp scent.
“Twenty-five years. Dad said hed be back by seven, but”
Emily snorted, hanging her leather jacket on the hook.
“Classic Dad. Always buried in that factory. Need a hand?”
“Set out the wine and glasses,” Elizabeth said, but 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, Elizabeth sat at the table, twisting a napkin embroidered with initialsa wedding gift from her late aunt. Across from her, Emily scrolled through her phone, trying to lighten the heavy silence.
“Mum, maybe call him again?” she suggested, sipping tea from a cat-printed mug.
Elizabeth shook her head, lips pressed thin.
“Wont help, Emily. He forgot. Again.”
Emily frowned, setting her phone aside.
“Dont jump to conclusions. Hes head of the workshopprobably swamped. Yesterday he called saying a machine broke down.”
Elizabeth clenched the napkin until her knuckles whitened.
“Swamped? Emily, its our anniversary! I cooked all day, put on this dress, and he couldnt even ring?”
The door creaked open, and Victor trudged in. His grey jacket was crumpled, his hair disheveled, and dark shadows hung under his eyes. In his hand was a worn briefcaseno flowers, no smile.
“Hey,” he grunted, dropping the briefcase by the wall. “Whats all this? Some special occasion?”
Elizabeth froze, her eyes widening as if struck.
“Special occasion? Victor, its our twenty-fifth anniversary!”
Victor paled, the briefcase nearly slipping from his grip.
“Bloody hell, Liz II forgot. The factorys chaos todayreports, the machine”
Elizabeth stood, her voice trembling like a plucked string.
“Forgot? I cooked all day, lit candles, wore this dress! And you couldnt care less!”
Victor tossed his jacket onto a chair, brow furrowed.
“Care less? Liz, I work my fingers to the bone for us! And you start a row over dinner!”
Emily coughed, trying to interject.
“Guys, come on. Dad, sit down. Mum, he didnt mean to.”
But Elizabeth turned to her, eyes flashing.
“Mean to? Emily, he always does this! I give everything for this family, and he acts like its nothing!”
Victor slammed his palm on the table, rattling the glasses.
“Nothing? Liz, Im at the factory by six every morning! And youre never satisfiedalways nagging!”
What shouldve been a celebration became a battlefield, every plate a landmine waiting to explode.
The next morning dawned with silence thick as November fog outside. Elizabeth brewed coffee, avoiding Victors gaze. He sat at the table, flipping through the local paper, but his fingers worried the pages edge. Emily, sensing the tension, spread butter on toast.
“Mum, that duck was brilliant. Fancy finishing it tonight? Ill make a salad.”
Elizabeth grunted, not turning from the stove.
“Help yourself. Im not hungry.”
Victor set the paper down, exhaustion in his voice.
“Liz, enough. I messed up. But you went straight for the jugular.”
Elizabeth spun around, her spoon clinking against the mug.
“Jugular? Victor, I put in hoursbought the wine, wore this dress! And you waltzed in like it was any other night! Do we even matter to you?”
Victor stood, voice rising.
“Matter? Ive slaved at that factory for twenty years for us! And you nitpick everything I do! Im not made of steel, Liz!”
Emily threw up her hands.
“Stop! Youre acting like kids. Mum, Dads knackered. Dad, Mums hurt. Just talk!”
But Elizabeth shook her head, tears glistening.
“Talk? Emily, you always take his side. What about me? Ive given everythingcooked, cleaned, raised you! And for what?”
Emilys voice sharpened.
“Mum, youre laying it on thick. Dads humanhe forgets. And Im not taking sides, Im saying hes shattered!”
Elizabeth stiffened, cheeks flushing.
“Laying it on? Seriously? I sacrificed everything for youstayed up when you were ill, drove you to clubs! And now you side with him?”
Victor rubbed his temples.
“Liz, I dont want fights. But you expect perfection. Im scared of letting you down. Of your disapproval.”
Elizabeths anger wavered, pain seeping in. She remembered their wedding day, dancing in the rain as Victor whispered hed give her the stars. Back then, anything seemed possible. Now they argued over cold duck.
That afternoon, Elizabeth went to the supermarket to clear her head. The aisles of grains and spices soothed her like an old ritual. She reached for rice, but her gaze snagged on a bottle of Cabernetthe same as last nights. Her heart clenched. She recalled their first anniversary, when money was tight, but Victor gave her a heart-shaped locket, and she baked a lopsided cake. Theyd laughed until they cried in their first rented flat.
In the queue, she bumped into Margaret, their loud, gossipy neighbor.
“Liz, why the long face? Wasnt it your anniversary? Did you celebrate?”
Elizabeth sighed, fiddling with the rice bag.
“We did. Victor forgot. Turned up at nine, didnt even call.”
Margaret tutted, her earrings jingling.
“Men, eh? Mine did the same till I stuck a calendar on his forehead. But Victors a good sort, Liz. Just swamped. Talk to himno shouting.”
Elizabeth nodded, but her heart ached. She didnt just want to talkshe wanted to be heard.
Meanwhile, Victor sat in his factory office, the air thick with machine oil and vending-machine coffee. His colleague, Pete, a grizzled mechanic with a permanent cigarette, flipped through a magazine.
“Vic, why the glum face? Anniversary, wasnt it? Good do?”
Victor sighed, eyeing the stack of reports.
“Not quite. Forgot. Liz had the whole dinner ready, and I” He hesitated. “Went to the hospital. Blood pressure spiked. Didnt tell herdidnt want to worry her. Now shes furious.”
Pete chuckled.
“You daft sod. Liz is a gem, and you pull this? Tell her the truth, mate. Shell understand.”
Victor nodded, but his chest was leaden. He feared not just her anger, but her seeing him as a failure again.
That evening, Emily orchestrated a truce. She reheated the duck, tossed a new salad, dug out an old photo album, and even lit fresh candles from her mums stash. But as they sat down, the silence was suffocating.
“Right,” Emily said, raising her juice glass. “To you twotwenty-five years. Mum, Dad, you love each other.”
Elizabeth eyed Victor, her tone icy.
“Love isnt just words, Emily. Its actions. And your father thinks work trumps
