Love Fades at Dusk

On our seventh wedding anniversary, my husband's childhood sweetheart called, claiming a burst pipe at her home.

Without a second thought, he ditched our celebration to play handyman.

Moments later, Vivian Duffy's social media lit up with a smug post.

[No matter when or where, my Superman arrives at one call. How should I reward him?]

Accompanying the post was a photo of scattered condoms and torn clothing on the floor.

I forced a smile, picked up my phone, and dialed a number. "My pipe is broken. Care to fix it?"

...

The reply came quickly. "What? You're calling me to play plumber?"

After a beat, his tone turned playful. "You're not pulling my leg, are you? That's fine. I'm booking a flight back in two days to fix your pipe."

"I'll hold you to it," I grinned, hanging up the phone and glancing at the clock.

The minute hand settled on 12. The anniversary passed in quiet solitude.

My phone buzzed with a call from my husband, Daniel Knapp.

I answered, my face blank.

"It's late," he whispered. "I'm crashing elsewhere tonight. Happy anniversary!"

His voice was thick with desire, underscored by Vivian Duffy's exaggerated moans in the background, loud enough for me to hear every syllable.

"Slow down!" she whined. "By the way, isn't today your anniversary with Jesse? Tell her I said happy anniversary."

I let out a bitter chuckle, the absurdity stinging.

The call ended, leaving me alone in the hollow house. The decorations I'd spent the afternoon arranging mocked me, as empty as our marriage had become.

The next morning, the clamor of movers woke me.

Workers dismantled the furniture I'd lovingly chosen, hauling it away. I blocked their path, demanding answers.

Just then, Daniel sauntered in, his arm protectively around Vivian. She shrank at the sight of me, whimpering, "Jesse's glare is terrifying."

Daniel shot me a scowl. "Quit scaring her."

I stared, unflinching. "What are you up to? Why are you gutting my house?"

Daniel chuckled, his hand gently rubbing Vivian's belly. She blushed, gazing at him adoringly.

"Vivian is pregnant," he announced. "I can't let her stay in that rundown rental. She's moving in with us."

I was stunned. Our seventh anniversary had just passed, and he surprised me with such a cruel joke.

"Those old things aren't safe for a pregnant woman," he continued, oblivious to my shock. "We ordered special maternity furniture."

I watched numbly as workers demolished the sofa I'd designed for our wedding, each stroke a memory of us dreaming of our future together.

Now, it was reduced to splinters.

"Oh, and move your things out of the master bedroom," Daniel added casually. "Vivian and I will take it. She needs someone nearby at all times."

I stood motionless, rooted to the spot.

His impatience flared. "What's with the attitude? Yeah, I gave you this house, but I decide how it's used."

Vivian tugged his sleeve, looking timid. "It's okay, Daniel. I don't want to cause trouble for