Our first wedding anniversary was approaching, and I wanted it to be unforgettable. I had planned a surprise dinner at the same restaurant where Adam and I had our very first date six years ago. To me, it was more than a meal—it was a way of celebrating how far we had come and honoring the love we had built.
Adam and I had been married for a year, but our story stretched back much further. We had faced challenges, shared dreams, and supported one another in ways that made me feel secure. Growing up, I didn’t have that kind of stability—my childhood was marked by uncertainty. With Adam, I finally felt like I had a family of my own.
But as our anniversary drew closer, I noticed changes. Adam became distant. His phone, once left casually on the counter, was always by his side. He slipped out of the room to take calls. At first, I told myself I was imagining things—but deep down, worry grew.
One evening, I confronted him.
“Adam, what’s going on? Are you hiding something from me?”
He looked taken aback. “Why would you think that?”
I listed the secrecy, the phone, the distance. “You’re different lately. I can feel it.”
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