Fifteen years of marriage deserved more than takeout and streaming shows. Between two kids, full-time jobs, and life’s constant noise, “date night” had become a memory. So when David told me he’d booked reservations at that high-end restaurant with the chandeliers and the soft jazz, I decided to dress the part. I slipped into the navy dress he always loved, the one that still made his eyes linger.
The maître d’ guided us to a table near the window, where city lights glittered like scattered stars. For the first time in months, we exhaled. David smelled faintly of starch and aftershave, and when he told me I looked beautiful, I teased him for saying it every time I wore this dress. “That’s because it’s always true,” he said, and for a little while, it felt like we were just us again — laughing about the kids, about our son’s disastrous attempt at cooking, about our daughter’s newest obsession with eyeliner.
Then the tone of the night changed.
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