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Even though it was late, my friends agreed to meet me.
We gathered at a food truck, drinking beer and eating greasy snacks. They teased me for disappearing after getting married, saying I’d practically forgotten they existed.
The alcohol dulled my brain, and for a moment, it felt like we were back in college,
laughing in our dorm room.
Looking back, I’d sacrificed so much for my husband and son. And for what?
After saying goodbye to my friends, I checked my phone. There were dozens of missed
calls and messages, most from my husband.
I was about to ignore them when one from Rachel caught my eye:
“I’m so sorry, Lauren. There’s nothing going on between me and Tom, I swear. I just had a bad day and needed someone to talk to. I completely forgot it was your birthday. Please forgive me!”
The alcohol churned in my stomach. I leaned against a streetlamp and vomited until my
throat burned.
Finally, I replied: “Don’t worry about it. I don’t care.”
She started typing a response, but I didn’t bother waiting for it.
When I got home, the house was a disaster zone–worse than when I’d left.
I ignored it and headed for the bathroom to wash up. My husband emerged from the bedroom, his face scrunched in irritation.
“You’re finally back? And drunk, no less. Clean this place up before you go to bed.”
“Whoever made the mess can clean it up.”
I flopped onto the couch, exhausted. Something hard jabbed into my hip. It was my husband’s phone, unlocked.
<
On the screen was a chat with Rachel
“Tom, I shouldn’t have made Lauren upset. It’s my fault. Let’s not meet up so often anymore.
“Don’t blame yourself. She’s just petty and jealous. It’s just a birthday–it’s not like we can’t celebrate later. She’s so dramatic, acting like a spoiled brat.”
“Don’t say that. She has every right to be upset. You should go make up with her.”
Thanks, Rachel If only Lauren were half as understanding as you.”
My husband snatched the phone from my hand, his face red with anger.
“Why do you always have to invade my privacy? There’s nothing going on with us!”
“Whatever,” I said, too tired to fight. “I’m going to sleep.”
He was taken aback by my indifference but quickly recovered.
“Oh, by the way,” he said, as if trying to change the subject. “I’ll show you how to use that robot we got you. It’ll make things easier for you.”
I opened my eyes and looked at him coldly.
“Tom, did you forget? I helped design that model.”
He froze, glancing at the robot. Then he let out a sheepish laugh.
“Oh, right. Well, never mind then.”
Before we got married, we’d both worked as engineers at the same tech company. But after Max was born, I quit my job to stay home and raise him.
Now, all I felt was regret for everything I’d given up.
The room was silent, except for the faint hum of the robot vacuuming the floor.
“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” I said. “You can go to bed.”
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11.42 Fri, Jan 31 & BB.
“Fine,” he muttered. “Oh, and I’m working late tomorrow. Don’t wait up.”
“Got it.”
And with that, I closed my eyes.
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