14: A YEAR DUMBER

~MADISON

I stared at my reflection in the mirror, smoothing the midnight blue dress I had carefully chosen for the evening. The silk fabric hugged my figure perfectly, flowing down in elegant folds. It was the kind of dress that made you feel confident, beautiful, even when your heart wasn’t quite in it. The warm light from the vanity caught on the delicate silver necklace I wore, a simple piece that Ethan had given me months ago.

It was my birthday, and despite everything—the fights, the cold distance between us, his increasing absences—I wanted to believe tonight would be different. He’d promised we’d go to dinner. He’d promised to make time for me.

I glanced at the clock on the wall. 7:30 PM. The reservation was for eight, but Ethan was nowhere to be seen. The house was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that made you acutely aware of your own breathing.

“Ma’am?” The soft knock at the door startled me. One of the staff, Maria, peeked her head in. “Would you like me to check with Mr. King’s office? Maybe he’s running late.”

I hesitated, torn between hope and the sinking feeling in my chest. “No,” I said finally, my voice sharper than I intended. I saw the way Maria flinched, and I softened my tone. “Thank you, but I’m sure he’ll be here soon.”

Maria nodded, her expression neutral, and quietly shut the door behind her.

Alone again, I let out a shaky breath and paced the length of the room, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor. My stomach churned with nervous energy as I glanced at the clock again. 7:45. Still time.

By 8:15, the hope I’d clung to was starting to crack. I sat down on the plush sofa in the living room, staring at the empty fireplace. My phone sat on the coffee table in front of me, the screen blank and silent. No messages. No calls.

“Maybe he’s stuck in traffic,” I muttered to myself, trying to stave off the creeping disappointment.

By 9:00, the disappointment had turned into a hollow ache in my chest. I couldn’t ignore it anymore—he wasn’t coming.

Just as the realization settled over me like a heavy weight, the sound of heels clicking against the floor pulled my attention. I turned toward the doorway and froze. Samantha stood there, her arms crossed over her chest, her lips twisted into a smug smile.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, my voice low and tired.

Samantha sauntered into the room, her every movement oozing confidence. She was dressed impeccably, as always, in a red dress that clung to her like a second skin. Her blonde hair was styled in soft waves, and the sharp click of her heels echoed in the quiet space.

“Oh, don’t mind me,” she said, waving a hand dismissively. “I just came to see how Mrs. King is spending her big day. But it looks like you’re spending it alone. How...predictable.”

Her words stung more than I wanted to admit. “Get out,” I said, standing and folding my arms.

She ignored me, her eyes scanning the room. “You know,” she continued, her tone dripping with condescension, “Ethan used to always make time for me on my birthday. Dinner, champagne, the works. But I suppose he has more important things to do these days.”

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. “I said, get out.”

Samantha’s smile widened. “Touched a nerve, did I?” She took a step closer, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. “You can dress up, play house, and pretend all you want, but you’ll never really belong here, Maddy. Ethan doesn’t care about you. He never has.”

Her words struck like a blow, but I kept my expression neutral. “That’s rich coming from the woman he dumped,” I shot back, my voice icy.

Her composure faltered for a split second, her nostrils flaring. But she quickly recovered, tossing her hair over her shoulder. “Believe what you want,” she said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

"Happy birthday, place holder. I hope you don't die waiting"

With that, she turned on her heel and strode out, her perfume lingering in the air long after she was gone.

I sank back into the sofa, my chest tight with frustration and hurt. Samantha’s words echoed in my mind, each one chipping away at the fragile hope I’d been holding onto.

The clock struck 10:00. Then 11:00.

At midnight, Maria approached me hesitantly, holding a neatly wrapped box. “Ma’am,” she said softly, placing it on the table in front of me, “this is from Mr. King.”

I stared at the box, the silver wrapping shimmering under the warm light. It was beautiful, clearly expensive. But the sight of it only deepened the ache in my chest.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, my voice hollow.

Maria hesitated, as if she wanted to say something, but she eventually left the room without another word.

I sat there for a long time, staring at the gift. My fingers itched to tear it open, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. A gift couldn’t fix this—not the disappointment, not the loneliness.

Finally, I pushed the box aside, leaving it untouched on the table. I blew out the candles, extinguishing the last flicker of light in the room, and went upstairs.

In my bedroom, I kicked off my heels and sat by the window, resting my chin on my knees. The city lights glittered in the distance, a stark contrast to the emptiness I felt inside. I stayed there until my eyes grew heavy, waiting for a man who never came.