For 3 Years, My Husband Ignored My Birthday — The Truth Broke Me After the Divorce

I was in a table-for-two next to a candle–this on my birthday. Three years, three no-party and one late husband who had alway justified. But this night I was tired of it. I said it was over because I thought I was serious–then I am sh0cked when I heard the truth he was concealing.

The corner booth was exclusive, just as I loved it. Moved away enough to be free of noise, but near enough the window to look out on the world as it passed by.

The walls of bricks contributed somehow a sort of comfortable silence, as though they kept secrets.

There was old jazz, which was playing overhead, soft and slow, and I used to love that place.Best gifts to your loved ones

The waiter already visited twice. On every occasion he said, with a gentle smile, whether I was not ready to order. Each time I had replied, (with a groan,) Just five minutes more.

However when he did come a third time his smile altered.
You will order then, ma am? he said.

I only stared at the gap.

then I was surprized, forcibly smiled, without looking up, and told him I was going to-morrow.

Instead, he nodded, moving quietly away with a graceful step, but I could sense it, then: the pity in the vacuum where a party ought to have been.

I folded my napkin into a tent and if it bent I just opened it out again.
I walked past tables where couples jinkle glasses, chuckle and get lost in each other.
“Sarah!”

I froze.

I knew. And there was Mark. My husband. panting, knot sloppy, hair blown.

Oh, I am very sorry,” he answered.

It was rush-hour and I–”

I said, no.

You can not do it over again.

“I tried—”

You have put three years of efforts, Mark. Three birthdays. Whenever it was that you had been busy, or late or forgot. I’m done.”

I did not mean to-”

I Don t Care. Variation of voice broke

I am your wife. I am worth more.”

He conceived a blindness.

I told you you would get divorce papers quite soon.
And I took to my heels, my heels tapping the sidewalk. He failed to notice that. along, standing there–all alone in the street-light..

Two weeks successful to signing and sealing the divorce papers, the world brand new was again hush.
I was drinking lukewarm coffee and folding towels that afternoon and a knock rang in the house.
and lo! she opened the door–Evelyn, the mother of Mark.

She appeared to be different.

Her hair rattled in the wind, her face, which was usually chiseled with pride, was finished and slack, like a person bearing a burden.

She said, I know that I am not your favorite person.

and I guess you do not want to see me. However I must speak.”

At the kitchen table we were seated like total strangers at a bus stop. The time went too loudly. I waited.
She made a throat clearance.

always self-willed, you were, said she. “Not easy. I always thought, however, that you loved my son.

I did and I said, flatly.

She saw Well he sure did love you. Although it was a funny manner of expressing it.”

My chipped mug was in sight. He had lots of opportunities.

She made no resistance. No, she just put her hand in her purse and passed over a little piece of folded paper across the table.
Then, there is something you did not know. It did not seem to be my place, but now … now I think that it is worse not to tell you.”

I spread it out. It was a speech. Handwritten.

What is that?

You got to see it yourself. You need make no talk to him. No need even to get out of the car. but you ought at least to know, even should you ever care–yes, at least Mary ought to know, should it be but a bit.”

The graveyard was stillness–enough to make one think, there might be nothing breathing on the land.

The oaks bordered the lane and were taller than a common oak, their boughs hung too heavy, their leaves told tales I did not want to hear.

I ambled up and down the rows, reading names of acquaintances that I had never met, young lost, and old. Both of them were tragedies.

My chest was tight as though there was a pressure on my ribs. And it came within the sight of my eyes.

Lily Harper Oct 12 th, 2010 to 12 th 2020

I stopped. My hands were cold. My birthday. It was no long message.

I was standing still, and 1h was marked, and I thought: I needed only to blink my eyes, I read it again and again. However, this did not change. Not on your life it would.

then I heard him.
Why, what are you so doing here?

I turned myself slowly around. Mark.

Dusty was his jacket, and his eyes–ravingly brown eyes–were hollow, as though even sleep had forsook him.

Do you happen to be here, I did not think I should see you, he said

Well i did not think the same, I said. Who was she?

He was looking at the grave.

“My daughter. As it is, out of my first marriage.”

The statements slapped me in the chest.

She was ten, he answered, after a pause.

“Car acci:dent. Her mother and I we could not. The funeral happened soon after we divorced.”

I was not able to talk. I did not know what to answer.
Somebody-he, I sugested-she had left a bunch of fresh flowers in a mason jar.

They were dying a little and yet beautiful. And at their side there was set a little plastic crown.

The type of little girls would wear when they would like to be a princess.

Did you come here each year?” I asked.

He bobbed.

“Every year. On her birth day.”

I said, my birthday.

I would have liked to be present with you. I tried. However, I could not balance between the two. I did not know how to respect you and to endure her. This was a kind of betrayal. Of both of ye.”

It was wet and cold and filled with soddy air and with the sweet sharp perishing smell of fallen leaves.
My gaze took quite some time to go up. My heart was all filled with so many things, I might not tell the name. At last I ended the silence.

Well, I really thought you did not care, I said.

Mark turned to me with his weary and unstinting look.

Said he, I never forgot thee.

“Not once. Sarah, I loved you. I don.t, but still do.”

I glanced at his hands basking in his knees. I recognized these hands. Mine they had so many dinners held.

They would turn up when we danced in the living room.

They had pressed my back at long rides in the car and hugged me when sad films were on the screen.

You ought to have told me, I said.

He glanced and turned again. “You were afraid, he said.

Terrified at losing you. I was afraid that I would open that door, and everything would broke up.”

Slow I nodded.

You should have believed you in me.
He answered, I know.

“You’re right.”

I heaved a sigh and stared across the trees.
I am not able to alter what I did. Nor can you either. But maybe…” I paused.

He stared at me and I saw him change in his eye. Something soft. Hope, maybe.

Now I am not saying that we go back to the old way of doing things, I said.

but we give it a second try. As far back as. No lies. No silence. No secrets.”

Mark blinked a couple of times, and gave a little tentative smile. That I would like, he said in as near a whisper as possible.

I nodded. Next we attempt.

Mark and I, wrapped in coats, stood side by side at the grave of Lily; and though in the chilly air it was beginning to grow late, we could see our own breath puffing out in little clouds.

the trees about us rustled and swayed in the wind, and the gold, red, and brown leaves tossed across the grass.

I knelt down, and placed on the ground, a very small chocolate cake, large enough to have a candle. Mark dropped a picture of Lily and kneeled by me.

She was smiling broadly and in her hands was the plastic tiara which I had spotted many months back.

My Chest was heavy, not in pain, but in love. To your loved ones’ Best giftsA girl that I did not knowBut now I have inside my heart.

We sat in silence some time, and drove out to an out-of-town diner. There were floors that were examined and hot coffee.

We made an apple-pie, in the corner-booth. The very one that people went to to start over.

Mark leaned towards me, took a small carefully wrapped box out of his coat pocket and slipped it into my hand.

Why, it is your birthday, he said.

I read it slowly. It contained a gold chain and a small pendant that was carrier of the form of a lily.
I began to cry. Ah beautiful, I said.

”I will not miss another one,” he said.

I know, I whispered, putting my hand in his.

Now, we did not h N convinced ourselves of only one life. We had two that we celebrated.

And the great part of it all–we did it together.