We gathered at a food truck, drinking beer and stuffing our faces with greasy snacks. They teased me for vanishing after getting married, saying I’d practically forgotten they existed.
The alcohol blurred my thoughts, and for a moment, it felt like we were back in college, goofing around in our dorm rooms like nothing had changed.
Looking back, I realized how much I’d given up for my husband and son. And for what?
After saying my goodbyes, I checked my phone. There were dozens of missed calls and texts, most from my husband.
I almost ignored 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 suddenly, I was throwing up until my throat felt like it was on fire.
Finally, I wiped my mouth and typed back, “Don’t worry about it. I don’t care.”
She started typing a response, but I didn’t wait for it.
When I got home, the place was a mess—worse than when I left it.
I ignored the chaos and headed straight to the bathroom to wash up. My husband came out of the bedroom, his face tight with frustration.
“You’re finally home? And drunk, too. Clean this place up before you go to bed.”
“Whoever made the mess can clean it up,” I shot back, too tired to fight.
I collapsed onto the couch, drained. Something hard jabbed into my side. My husband’s phone, unlocked.
I glanced at the screen—it 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 being 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.”
I stared at the messages, my stomach turning.
Tom snatched the phone from my hand, his face flushed with anger.
“Why do you always have to invade my privacy? There’s nothing going on with us!”
“Whatever,” I said, too drained to care. “I’m going to sleep.”
He looked taken aback by my indifference but quickly recovered.
“Oh, by the way,” he said, clearly 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 let out an awkward laugh.
“Oh, right. Never mind.”
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 soft hum of the robot vacuuming the floor.
“I’m sleeping on the couch tonight,” I said, my voice flat. “You can go to bed.”
“Fine,” he muttered. “Oh, and I’m working late tomorrow. Don’t wait up.”
“Got it.”
And with that, I closed my eyes, letting sleep take me—finally, some peace.
