A Heart Gone With the Wind

At a company party, Taylor Kennedy plays a game of mouth-to-mouth cookie biting with his female assistant as everyone watches.

I blend into the crowd and laugh along. The room instantly falls silent.

The assistant bursts into tears and plays the victim. Taylor lets go of her, turns to me, and coldly scolds me in front of the entire company. He berates me for not knowing how to read the room and being a buzzkill.

Then, without hesitation, he wraps his arm around the assistant and kisses her deeply as I watch.

If this were before, I would've stormed over in a rage and ripped them apart. Then, I would've humiliated her in front of everyone, not caring whose pride I trampled.

But now, I feel nothing. Not even as I watch them kiss. Not even though today marks my ten-year anniversary with Taylor.

After the gathering ended, I stood at the entrance as usual to see my colleagues off while waiting for Taylor Kennedy to pull out from the parking lot.

When a car sprayed with bright pink paint stopped in front of me, I was somewhat confused.

The window rolled down, revealing Yvonne Carter sitting comfortably in the front passenger seat. She smiled sweetly and said, "Faith, I get carsick in the back. You won't mind, would you?"

I looked down as I recalled the time I'd pleaded with Taylor to hang the little charm I'd crocheted by hand in his car.

He'd responded impatiently, "That thing doesn't match my car's aesthetic. If anyone sees it, they're going to make fun of me."

So, a pink car matched his aesthetic, then? Was that not embarrassing for him?

I didn't say much. I quietly opened the rear door and got in.

In the past, I probably would have made a scene and told Yvonne to get out. But now, I couldn't be bothered anymore.

Even Taylor was surprised by my reaction and stopped acting affectionate with Yvonne openly.

When we arrived home, I told him to return early after dropping Yvonne off. Although he promised to do so with a smile, it was already two in the morning by the time he came back.

Our wedding anniversary had passed.

I was scrolling through my Instagram feed when I saw a new post from Yvonne. It was a photo of her holding roses with the caption, "No matter how busy he is, he never forgets my birthday."

In the corner of the picture, I recognized the hand wearing a familiar wedding ring.

Taylor opened the door and saw me still waiting in the living room with a cake I had made on the table. He walked over with a smile and hugged my waist.

"What's the occasion? Why did you make a cake?"

Then, he smeared some cream on my face. "It tastes better than it looks."

In the past, if he had forgotten our anniversary and then dismissed my efforts like this, I would have felt hurt and argued