On our 10th anniversary, my husband said he’d “handle dinner.” I got dressed up, did my hair, put on the red dress he used to love… and waited. I waited upstairs, imagining something sweet. A surprise reservation, maybe takeout for two and candles — anything that showed he remembered.At 7 p.m., the doorbell rang. My heart jumped. But all I heard was the rustle of plastic bags. I walked downstairs and found him on the couch… eating a burrito bowl. Alone. When,

I asked where mine was, he looked up, surprised. “Oh… I forgot you were home. You can order something. Let’s watch the game?” He didn’t notice the dress. The lipstick. The ten years. So I grabbed my coat and purse and left. I took myself to a quiet Italian restaurant, said, “Table for one,”