BENEATH THE SAME SKY

Eleven o’clock at night.

I sat at the head of the long, mahogany dining table, my hands folded neatly on my lap, staring at the flickering flames of the two candles I had lit hours ago. The wax had melted halfway down, forming little stalactites of white and gold, just like my patience—melting, dripping, and slowly hardening into something cold and fragile.

On the table, the food I had prepared with so much love was now cold.

The roasted chicken, which I had marinated for three hours with Gavin’s favorite herbs, was now dry and pale. The creamy mushroom soup had formed a thin, unappetizing skin on the surface. The salad was wilted, and the bottle of expensive red wine—one of the few things we had kept from happier times—stood there, unopened, gathering dust.

Today was our fifth wedding anniversary.

Five years.

One thousand, eight hundred and twenty-five days.

I remembered the day we got married as if it were yesterday. The sun was shining so brightly, and Gavin looked at me with eyes full of stars, holding my hands and promising that he would love me until his last breath. He said I was his angel, his savior, the only woman in his world.

Back then, I believed him. I believed every single word.

I was so happy that I gave up everything. I quit my job at the design firm where I was just starting to get recognized. I left my friends, I distanced myself from my family, and I built a whole world centered entirely around this man. Gavin became my sun, my moon, and my entire universe.

I thought that if I loved him enough, if I gave him everything, he would never leave. I thought a perfect wife who cooked, cleaned, and loved him unconditionally was all he needed.

But looking at the empty chair across from me now, I realized how foolish I had been.

Love is not enough when the other person stops wanting to receive it.

Suddenly, the sound of a car engine broke the silence.

My heart leaped into my throat. My hands instinctively started smoothing down my dress—the soft, red silk dress I had bought specifically for tonight, hoping to see that familiar spark in his eyes again.

Footsteps. Heavy, dragging footsteps approaching the front door.

The doorknob turned.

"Gavin?" I called out softly, standing up quickly, ready to welcome him.

The door swung open.

Gavin walked in. He looked tired, his tie was loosened, and his hair was messy. But what caught my attention immediately was not his tiredness.

It was the smell.

A sweet, heavy, floral scent wafted into the room the moment he stepped inside. It was not my perfume. I wore something soft, something light, something that smelled like vanilla and home. This smell was strong, intoxicating, and undeniably feminine.

My smile faltered. My feet froze in place.

Gavin didn't even look at me. He threw his car keys onto the console table with a loud