Her Regret, My Horizon

It was our seventh wedding anniversary.

Seven cars, seven apologies, one for each endless week she spent with him.

My wife, Olivia, hummed, zipping up a suitcase clearly packed for Julian.

"Don't forget to check out the new car, Ethan. It's a beauty," she said, her usual dismissive, cool kiss brushing my cheek.

But this year was different.

Julian called, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction. He explained Olivia had cut their trip short because he was "unwell."