My Wife's Heart Beats for Two

Every year on our wedding anniversary, my wife gifts me a watch, always the same kind. This year, she couldn’t be there on the day, so she asked me to pick it up myself.

At the store, the clerk presented two watches. “Ms. Snow customizes two watches each year,” he explained, “both with initials on the back.” One bore the initials KY, for Kip Yoder—my name—while the other had AH, for her beloved, Abel Hill. My watch was priced at five thousand, while Abel’s was valued at six hundred thousand.

I pushed away the $600,000 watch and told the clerk, “This is for Ms. Snow’s true love. Please add her initials as well, and wish them happiness together.” Then, at the door, I tossed my own watch into the trash. This cheap marriage is finally over.

Soon after, my wife called, her tone impatient: “Kip, that watch was a birthday gift for Abel. Why make a scene and give people something to laugh at?”

I looked at the six watches in my drawer, each one seemingly mocking me. I replied quietly, “Our anniversary happens to be Abel’s birthday. It all makes sense now. Kate Snow, you love him deeply, don’t you?”

Her voice grew defensive and sharp. “What are you talking about? Abel and I are just good friends, nothing more.”

I didn’t back down. “Kate, the clerk told me you order two watches each year—one for him, one for me. His costs hundreds of thousands, and mine, only thousands. Tell me, who is really your husband?”

Kate paused for a moment, then said, “What matters is the thought behind it. Why focus so much on the price? You’re usually not one to care about money.”

I felt a wave of disappointment. “Kate, if that’s how little this love is worth, then why not marry Abel instead?”

Seven years of marriage seemed worthless compared to every glance and gesture from her childhood sweetheart. Abel and Kate had been close since they were kids, but when the Hill family went bankrupt, he moved away from Oklahoma City, and they lost contact.

Years later, after we married, Abel reappeared at one of her class reunions. I remember seeing Kate drunk for the first time. When Abel made a toast, her eyes reddened. I thought she’d simply had too much to drink, but later I understood—it was regret. She regretted marrying me and missing her chance with Abel.

Since that day, she became increasingly involved with him. She helped Abel find a place to live, used her connections to set up business introductions for him, and went out of her way to support him. Even because he lived far from work, she began getting up half an hour early each day to take a detour and drive him to the office.

Whenever I raised my concerns, she would respond with conviction: “He’s a close friend. Can you stop looking at our friendship through such a suspicious lens? If I wanted to be with him, I would have left you by now. We’re just friends, nothing more.”

Sometimes my friends would joke, “In seven years of marriage, has Kate ever driven you to work? Has she ever taken you to the ER in the middle of the night? Are you even sure you’re not being played?”

They had a point—every special gesture, every ounce of consideration she gave was reserved for Abel, never for me. Our wedding anniversary was postponed year after year because Kate always had “urgent work” and would say she needed to stay late. Only now do I understand—she was spending his birthday with Abel, every single time.

That afternoon, as expected, Kate texted me: “Honey, I have to work late tonight and can’t spend our anniversary together. Let’s celebrate tomorrow instead. Don’t wait up; it’ll probably be very late.”

I replied, holding onto a faint hope: “Kate, are you really that busy today? Can’t we make time for each other, just this once?” I was clinging to the slim chance that she might surprise me, that she’d pause and see how much this day meant to me.

But her response came back, colder than ever: “I told you, I don’t have time. Why are you so hung up on this anniversary? It’s just another day. Why celebrate these pointless traditions? We can do it whenever.” Then she hung up.

That evening, I opened the Viber group chat that Kate shared with her classmates. She had no idea I was also in the group, added automatically as a family member when the group formed for a class reunion. Carelessly, she posted a message without realizing: “Today is Abel’s birthday. Wishing him a very happy birthday!”