3: 3
Two o'clock in the afternoon.
The anniversary photoshoot I'd booked a month in advance, for our two years together, and the photographer was texting to ask where we were.
I looked up at Russ.
"We need to head out. The photographer's waiting."
He blanked for a second, then pulled out his phone, scrolled through the calendar, and smacked his forehead.
"Oh, right, I forgot all about that. Rosalind's got her stomach checkup this afternoon, and she's too scared to go alone. I have to go with her."
"Can we push the photos to another day? There'll be plenty of chances later anyway."
I drew a deep breath.
"A friend pulled strings to get me that photographer. He's booked solid through the second half of the year. It can't be moved."
He slid the phone back into his pocket, picked up the car keys, and his tone turned sharp.
"Can you not be so childish? You can take photos anytime. Rosalind's timid, and if something happens to her alone at the hospital, then what?"
"She just went through a breakup. She's fragile right now. Can't you be more mature about this? Stop fighting over pointless little things like a kid."
I said nothing.
He took it as agreement and turned to open the door.
Still muttering as he went.
"I'll bring you takeout tonight. Order whatever you want, my treat. Consider it me making it up to you."
"No need."
My voice was quiet, but firm.
He turned back to look at me, confusion in his eyes.
I picked up my phone, opened the app, and held the cancellation-confirmed page up in front of his eyes.
"I canceled the honeymoon. You don't have time for it anyway."
His face darkened, degree by degree, and he snatched the phone from my hand.
"You just throw away a fifty-thousand deposit like that? Sylvia, have you lost your mind?"
He hurled the phone onto the couch and raised his voice.
"Just because I'm taking Rosalind to her checkup? Is it really worth this? If something's wrong, we talk it out. Why blow fifty grand out of spite? Since when did you get this willful?"
Me, grieving over our own trip, was willful.
Him, dropping me over and over for someone else's small things, was kindhearted.
I looked at his eyes, red with anger, and suddenly I laughed.
"Do you know why I canceled it?"
"It's not because of today's photos."
"It's because last night I had a fever, I wanted a cup of hot water, and instead you went out in a thunderstorm to warm an eight-dollar glass of milk for someone else."
He paused, then his brow knit even tighter.
"That's all this is about? Didn't I tell you to pour it yourself? You've got two hands and two feet, you don't need me waiting on you. Rosalind was alone and scared. Was I supposed to just ignore her?"
Even now, he thought I was throwing a tantrum over nothing.
He didn't understand that what crushed me was never that glass of milk.
It was the countless moments I'd been overlooked, the fact that I was always ranked last.
I was about to speak when his phone rang.
"Rosie" flashed on the screen, and the ringtone was urgent.
He answered at once, his tone softening into someone entirely different from a moment ago.
"Hello? What's wrong? Are you not feeling well?"
"Okay, okay, I'm coming right now, don't worry, wait for me at home, I'll be there in a minute."
He hung up, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door without another glance at me.
I blocked the entryway.
"If you dare walk out that door today, we're getting divorced."
His steps froze. His face was full of disbelief, edged with disappointment that I could be so unreasonable.
"You want a divorce over something this small?"
"Can you stop being so unreasonable? I already told you, Rosalind's alone—"
"She's alone. She's scared. She's pitiful."
I cut him off, my voice so calm it startled even me.
"That's her problem. It has nothing to do with me."
"Russ, I'm asking you one last time. Today, do you choose her, or me?"
