We got married that fall in a tiny ceremony.
Megan was my maid of honor. Diane sat in the front row and dabbed her eyes like an actress.
Our first anniversary was last Friday.
I want you to remember that date because the night I thought was the happiest of my life became the night every story I’d ever told myself fell apart.
I want you to remember that date.
Aaron had been planning it for weeks, or so he said. Lit candles sat on the table; my favorite pasta simmered on the stove, and a bottle of red wine my husband claimed he’d been saving since the wedding waited nearby.
He kissed my forehead in the doorway when I arrived home from work.
« Get refreshed. I want tonight to be perfect. »
I floated through the hallway of our little apartment, smiling and in a haze of disbelief that this was actually my life.
