He Missed Seven Wedding Anniversaries

Married for seven years, my doctor husband, Liam, had missed every single one of my birthdays and wedding anniversaries. The first year, his patient, Sophia, claimed she had a headache. He ditched me in Hawaii and flew back overnight. The second year, I put on some lace lingerie, hoping for an intimate night. He’d already unbuckled his belt and was tying me to the bed when Sophia’s call pulled him away again. Her reason? She couldn’t get a cab back to the hospital. After that, no matter the year, Sophia always seemed to have some trouble or another that required his attention. Finally, my heart turned to ice. I decided to file for divorce. But the day I moved out of Los Angeles, he frantically searched for me, like a madman.

Today was my seventh birthday since marrying Liam. I threw a birthday party and invited all our friends. Liam promised he would definitely be there this time, as a make-up for all his past absences. But he did come, only he came with Sophia. He sat in the corner of the private room, massaging Sophia’s cramping foot, leaving me standing there awkwardly, alone. My friends shook their heads in dismay, feeling sorry for me. “Look at you, every year you hope he’ll spend your birthday with you, but does he ever truly care about you?” Everyone knew how much this day meant to me, how much I longed to truly celebrate it with him. But halfway through the party, Liam, who was supposed to be cutting the cake with me, left early again. I rushed after him, but he stopped me with a hand. “Sophia’s foot still hasn’t recovered from the cramp. I need to take her home.” “You handle the party tonight. Next time, next time I promise I won’t leave early.” With that, he forcibly pulled his hand away from mine and helped Sophia into his car. Seven years of marriage, and this was the seventh time he’d ruined my birthday because of Sophia. In the past, I would have yelled and screamed, demanding to know why he had to leave at such an important moment. But this time, I stood quietly, a gentle smile on my face. “It’s okay. Sophia’s health is certainly important.” Liam paused, seemingly surprised by my calm. “It’s best you think that way. Tomorrow, I’ll bring you a Tiramisu from your favorite place.” I hummed in agreement, watching him roll up the car window and speed away without a second glance. The moment he was gone, I dropped the smile from my lips. He forgot. I hate caffeine. I can’t stand overly sweet cakes. Tiramisu isn’t my favorite; it’s hers. He’d bought one for me once, trying to cheer me up. Not wanting to hurt his feelings, I forced myself to take a bite, almost gagging. Afterwards, I told him how much I hated coffee and anything too sweet. He’d pulled out his phone immediately, typed it into his notes, and promised he’d never forget. A year later, “never” was already over. The night wind chilled me to the bone, but my heart was already frozen solid. I scoffed, then went back inside. After announcing the party was over, I publicly tore my birthday dress to shreds. I knew this seven-year marriage should be shredded along with it. After all, the annual birthday gift my husband gave me was always the same: his blatant flirtation with another woman. By the end, my best friend, Stella Smith, stayed to comfort me. She watched me sitting dejectedly amidst the ruined party decorations and couldn’t help but speak again: “How about… you finally let go completely this time? Come back to Washington with me. There are more opportunities there. Leave this place, start fresh.” This wasn’t the first time she’d urged me to leave. I looked up, meeting Stella’s worried and indignant gaze. She was my med school roommate and my best friend, from a prominent medical family in Washington. Years ago, when I met Liam during my internship and, head over heels, followed him to Los Angeles, a city where I didn’t know a soul, only Stella vehemently objected, saying I’d regret it someday. Liam came from a small, ordinary town. He was extremely sensitive about his background and hated anyone mentioning family wealth. To spare his feelings, for seven years, I never told him about my true family situation—my parents were also professors at a prestigious medical school, and we were quite well-off. In his eyes, I was just a girl like him, who worked hard to make her way from a modest background. I always thought it wouldn’t be too late to tell him once we were established and our lives were getting better. With this mutual understanding and shared struggle, we grew from resident doctors to key members of our respective departments, winning the hospital’s annual Outstanding Physician Award for three consecutive years. We were considered the “power couple” by everyone. Our lives seemed to be steadily improving. I thought that when the right time came, he would understand everything. But that “right time” was always interrupted by Sophia’s endless “crises.” Lost in thought, I looked at the shredded fabric of my dress scattered on the floor and let out a bitter laugh. In the end, there was no need to say anything anymore. “Okay.” I heard my dry voice say. “Stella, I’ll go with you.” Stella’s eyes lit up. She practically lunged at me, grabbing my cold hands tightly: “You finally came to your senses! I’ll book the soonest flight for you. This crappy place, this crappy guy, we’re done! I’ll help you settle in back home. I’ve got you covered!”