Your husband, Ivor, was a hard-working and driven man. He was so engrossed in his work that he barely spent time with you. The routine was always the same: work, coffee, come home late, sleep, and repeat. Your third anniversary was approaching, and he promised you an amazing dinner and a special gift.

Dressed to the nines, you arrived at the restaurant where he had made a reservation. You arrived first but didn't mind; it was your first date in a long time. You sat at your table, filled with happiness.

Thirty minutes later, you thought he would have arrived by now. It was only a thirty-minute drive from his office. A waitress approached with a smile. “Is your guest still coming? We can only hold this table for two hours max.” She refilled your water. You frowned, feeling humiliated.

“I apologize for taking up your time and space. He won’t be coming,” you said softly, tipping the waitress. You exited the restaurant, feeling frustrated and sad. You called Ivor, but he didn’t answer. You got in your car and drove to his office.

Entering the building, you saw everyone leaving for the night. You stormed to his office and slammed the door open, seeing him at his desk. He had droopy eyes, a cup of coffee in one hand, a pen in the other. “What are you doing here, love?” he asked, trying to wake himself up.

You scoffed, shaking with anger and trying to hold back your tears. “I can’t believe you, Ivor! Today was our anniversary, and you humiliated me, making me look like a fool,” you yelled, patting your face with a handkerchief to stop the tears.

“Wait, that was today…” Ivor stopped what he was doing and looked up at you with a confused expression. “I—” he paused.