Gift Of the Heart

For five years, my marriage to Mark Johnson was a meticulously guarded secret, hidden for the sake of his booming tech career.

Our fifth anniversary arrived, a date circled in red, feeling like a cruel joke.

That day, the love I' d poured into him for a decade finally ran dry, replaced by a hollow ache.

I typed Sarah' s number, my best friend and legal wizard.

"It's time," I said, my voice betraying none of the turmoil inside me. "I need the papers."

Mark was about to get an anniversary gift unlike any other: a signed divorce agreement.

I left his office, the signed papers clutched in my hand, just after hearing him rush off to his adopted sister, Chloe, for yet another fabricated crisis.

The realization hit me: he had married me for convenience, for the perfect image I provided, while his heart belonged to another.

The following morning, I stopped making his coffee, subtly stepping away from his touch, creating an ocean of distance between us.