After Twenty-Five Stolen Anniversaries

Gareth's eyes held a glimmer I had never seen before. His usual serious, scholarly face was now rippling with an almost naked obsession.

I followed his gaze and saw a woman who still possessed a graceful charm, looking up from a pile of photos. Her silver hair was coiled in an elegant bun, and she had an intellectual air about her.

She was the woman from the photos. Genevieve.

They were standing very close, practically nestled together, choosing photos like a young couple. They spoke in low voices from time to time, and the occasional touch of their fingertips carried an electric intimacy.

I felt the whole world collapsing around me.

The rain was pouring down. The sky was dark with clouds, and thunder rumbled.

I didn’t have an umbrella and could only huddle miserably under the eaves.

Soon, a young employee came out to put away the sign by the door. She noticed me and greeted me warmly.

“Ma'am, you’re getting soaked out here! Come on in before you catch a cold!”

As she led me inside, her sales instincts kicked in.

“You could also take a look at our packages. You could bring your husband in for a 'vow renewal' photo shoot! A lot of our clients are couples your age, looking to make up for regrets from when they were younger. Love never goes out of style…”

I dragged my numb feet behind her, each word a small knife twisting in my heart.

I thought back to when Gareth and I got together.

He was still a doctoral student, and I’d given up a promising position as a gallery assistant, working two jobs to support his studies. We had almost no money; our wedding consisted of a quick trip to City Hall for a license.

We never had wedding photos. He’d promised we would take them once he got tenure.

I waited and waited. Twenty-five years passed, and all I got was twenty years of his secret affair with another woman.

The irony wasn't lost on me. What a fool I’d been.

Just as the employee led me into the shop, Gareth was leaning down, gently adjusting a silk scarf that had slipped from Genevieve's shoulders.

A faint blush colored her cheeks as she said softly, “Don’t, Gareth. So many people are watching.”

Gareth slowly straightened up. Just as he was about to speak, he noticed me standing at the entrance.

His expression froze, and then he blurted out, “Fiona? What the hell are you doing here?”

Our eyes met. I saw shock in his, the annoyance of being caught, and even a hint of disgust that I had ruined his moment.

Was he angry that I had rudely interrupted his private rendezvous with his lover?

If I were younger, I would have lost control, screamed, and demanded to know why he was ripping my heart out.

But now, I just felt numb. I was even surprised by how calm my voice sounded as I tried to hold on to the last shred of my dignity.

“I found the photo album. I figured you’d be here.”

He frowned, his expression a mask of impatience. The first thing he thought of was the album.

“Why did you touch my things? Did you put it back?”

The commotion from our corner drew the attention of others in the studio.

He was clearly worried about making a scene, so he lowered his voice and stepped closer to me.

“Don't make a scene here. Be decent. Genevieve and I just wanted to make up for the regrets of our youth, when we were poor. I have a family and a reputation now. We were just taking some pictures, you understand?”

Genevieve Clarke.

I remembered now. Gareth's first love from the University of Washington. They had been the star couple of the literature department and had almost gotten married.

Later, they were forced to break up because Genevieve's family looked down on Gareth for having nothing.

While I was talking to Gareth, Genevieve stood there awkwardly, calling out helplessly, “Gareth…”

Gareth stopped talking. He glanced at the downpour outside, then turned to me and said, “I have to take her home first. Her health is poor; she'll get sick if she gets caught in the rain.”

“You wait for me here. I'll come back to get you, and we'll talk at home.”

Just like that, I could only watch helplessly as he hurried Genevieve away, a victorious smile playing on her lips.

I was left alone on the rain-soaked street corner.