It was almost midnight when the doorbell rang.
Sophia almost fell asleep at the dining table, waiting for him. She hasn’t eaten anything.
Her eyes opened slowly. Her heart jumped. “Maybe tonight,” she thought, “he came early… maybe he remembered.”
She walked to the door, her feet cold, her hands shaking a little. She opened it.
James stood there, wet from the rain. His eyes looked tired. His shirt was wrinkled. He smelled of beer.
Sophia looked at him. He walked in, his steps heavy. He was drunk again.
No flowers. No smile. No words.
He didn’t even look at her. He just sat on the couch and closed his eyes.
Sophia stood near the table. The food was still warm. The candle still burned. The chairs were ready for two.
It was her birthday.
She had worn the white dress he once said made her look like “the moon on a quiet night.” She cooked his favorite—chicken soup and warm rice. She had waited since 7 p.m.
She thought, “Maybe this year… maybe tonight he will sit with me, smile at me, eat with me, and say ‘Happy Birthday, Sophia.’”
But no.
He ate outside again. He drank with friends again. He forgot again.
She sat down quietly. The candlelight touched her face. Her eyes were wet, but no tears fell. Her heart was not angry. Just tired. Very tired.
She looked at the chair across from her. Empty again. Like her hope.
She whispered, “I saved this day for you.”
James said nothing. He had already fallen asleep on the couch.
She ate alone. Slowly. One spoon at a time. As if tasting every quiet year of their marriage.
After dinner, she cleaned the table. She blew out the candle.
The room was dark, but her heart was darker.
She walked to the window and looked at the night sky. It was raining softly. Like the sky was crying with her.
Then, something inside her whispered:
“Love is not in the flowers. Not in the gifts. Not even in the words.
Love is in the remembering. And he forgot.”
She didn’t scream. She didn’t leave. She just stood there, still as a painting, listening to the rain.
She still loved him. But tonight, she realized: sometimes, love is not enough.
And sometimes, silence says more than a broken heart ever can.
