Twenty-eight years together. Twenty-five years of marriage.
So much shared life… and yet, she felt unseen.
They had chosen the same restaurant where they’d gone on their very first date. The air was filled with familiar aromas — garlic butter, sizzling meat, and a soft sweetness she could never quite name.
Everything should have felt warm and romantic.
“Happy anniversary, my love,” Thorne said, lifting his glass.
His smile was gentle, but his eyes seemed restless, drifting away from her again and again.
Rowan noticed immediately.
She followed his gaze — and saw her.
The waitress.
Tall and graceful, with chestnut hair that caught the light as she moved between tables. Her smile was polite and welcoming to everyone.
But Thorne’s attention lingered longer than it should have.
A quiet ache settled in Rowan’s chest.
He was nearly sixty. The waitress couldn’t have been thirty.
Rowan tried to convince herself she was imagining things.
“This place hasn’t changed at all,” she said softly. “Even the walls are still gold.”
Thorne nodded distractedly, then motioned for the waitress to come over.
“Good evening! Are you ready to order?” she asked warmly.
Thorne answered quickly — even choosing Rowan’s meal for her without asking.
She let it go.
He chatted easily with the waitress, learning her name, where she lived, even her dog’s name.
Rowan smiled politely, saying very little.
Dinner passed in uncomfortable silence. Rowan tried to bring up memories — trips, old jokes, shared dreams.
But Thorne wasn’t fully present.
Eventually, Rowan stood up.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, heading toward the restroom.
As soon as the door closed behind her, tears spilled over.
It’s our anniversary, she thought bitterly.
She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and returned to the dining room.
That’s when she saw it.
The waitress stood beside their table, leaning slightly toward Thorne. She slipped him a small folded note.
Thorne’s face changed instantly. His cheeks flushed, and he hurriedly tucked the paper into his pocket.
Rowan’s heart sank.
She returned to her seat, forcing a calm expression.
“Everything okay?” she asked.
“Yes — just work,” he replied too quickly.
She didn’t believe him.
Later that night, at home, Thorne crumpled the note and threw it into the trash before saying he needed to step out for a bit.
As soon as the door closed, Rowan rushed to the trash can.
Her hands shook as she unfolded the paper.
She read:
You have a radiant wife sitting across from you. She looks at you with love, while your eyes wander elsewhere. She deserves better. Cherish her.
Rowan sank onto the couch, overwhelmed with emotion.
It wasn’t a flirtation.
It was a reminder.
Some time later, the door opened. Thorne returned carrying a bottle of wine, a bouquet of peonies, and a small dessert box.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I let myself get distracted… and forgot what truly matters.”
Rowan held up the note.
Thorne lowered his eyes.
“She was right,” he admitted. “But you — you’re the one I love.”
They talked late into the night, just like they used to. Laughing. Remembering.
The next day, Rowan stopped by the restaurant.
“Thank you,” she said to the waitress. “You helped save something precious.”
She left a small gift and walked away feeling lighter.
Ready to begin another chapter together.
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