Page 4 of A Love Like Candle Light

“Sorry, sorry, coming through!”

Vanessa makes her way through the flurry of people trying to find their chairs and drops into the seat next to me with a wink. Only a second later, the lights dim and spotlights hit the stage.

“Did you actually think we’d let you sit here all alone?” She nudges me and laces her fingers with mine. “I’ve got you.” I stare at her.

So much is hitting me at once. Disappointment at Zach. Anger. Sadness. And gratitude for having Vanessa, Gabriella and the rest of my team with me.

“You’re the best.” I give her a teary smile and squeeze her hand, emotions settling in the back of my throat.

The house is completely silent when I get home. The lights are off. Abby, my dog, is still with our neighbor Betty. She adores watching her on the rare occasion I need an evening to myself. Since I didn’t know when I’d be back, we agreed for her to keep Abby overnight.

But I know Zach is home. The door wasn’t locked, his shoes are carelessly kicked into a corner and his jacket is on the ground.

With a sigh, I kick it aside and almost kiss the ground. Damn. Champagne and high heels aren’t the best combination. Who would’ve thought?

Emotions clog my throat as I kneel to take off my shoes and carefully place them on the shelf. My feet barely make a sound as I pad into the kitchen without turning on the lights, the cold award heavy in my hand.

I set it on the kitchen island and take a seat on one of the bar stools, staring at it in the dim passive light from our cabinet lights and a hint of blue glow from the moon shining through the kitchen window.

My thoughts race at a million miles per hour, but one thought keeps popping up:

I can’t do this anymore.

The realization sits heavy in my stomach and even heavier on my mind. My eyes sting as hot tears run down my cheeks.

Ten years.

When he missed our ten-year anniversary earlier this month, I should have known where we were headed instead of clinging to this relationship like a drowning woman to a life raft.

Is today the first time I thought it? Maybe. So far it was ‘why are we married if we don’t even see each other anymore?’ Or ‘Is this what marriage is supposed to be? A roommate arrangement?’ Quickly followed by ‘Pull yourself together, Kylie. You’re overreacting.’ A nagging little voice in the back of my mind kept repeating these sentences to me, over and over again.

Deep down, I know somewhere deep down, he’s still the guy I fell in love with. The guy who blushed so red I was worried he’d pass out when he invited me to prom.

The guy who stuttered with anxiety when he asked me to be his girlfriend. Who bought me a thousand daisies because I once said I found it romantic when a love interest did it on a show I was watching. Who gave a thirty-minute speech about how much he loved me and couldn’t wait to spend the rest of my life with me, right before proposing.

But I’m done fighting for his attention. For an ounce of acknowledgement.

I’m so damn exhausted.

I’ve fought for us the past four years. Ever since he started this job, it’s been a struggle to get him to remember I exist.

At first, I bit back, swallowed down my needs and let him prioritize his career without a complaint. I got up early to make him breakfast before work, packed him a lunch and didn’t complain when he didn’t come home. But somewhere along the line, we both changed too much for me to keep up the pretense of a happy wife.

He’s career-driven, and I’m not.

Sure, awards like the tiny one right in front of me are nice, but it’s only a pretty gimmick, a piece of plastic I can only brag to coworkers about. Not something I’d sacrifice my life for.

Living my life is my priority. To have fun, to spend it with my loved ones. Which includes him.

Those aren’t new information to him. In fact, I’ve initiated countless conversations over the past two years. I laid it all out: How lonely I was, how much I missed him, how worried I was he’d work himself into an early heart attack.

Every time he promised to change. And every time he continued on as if the conversation never happened. The only thing to change was my resentment.

Resentment about never seeing him, about being the only person to take care of our home, about him taking meals I prepared for myself without even asking or so much as a ‘thank you’ note.

And after watching Gabriella and her husband tonight… every kiss he pressed to the side of her head felt like a knife right through my heart. The way he looked at her, with so much softness, with so much love.

I want that. And I deserve to have someone treat me like I matter, damn it.