Housewife - Part 8

 

The kids were home with the sitter. It was Dan and Zoey’s anniversary, apparently. We were walking to some restaurant they loved.

“Can’t believe it’s been ten years already,” he said, glancing over at me with those earnest brown eyes that were filled with genuine affection.

It made my skin crawl.

“Yeah, time flies,” I replied, my voice steady but hollow.

As we entered the restaurant, the atmosphere buzzed with laughter and chatter. Couples shared intimate conversations under dimmed lights, a romantic backdrop that should have felt special for us, but instead felt like a farce. The waiter led us to our table, draping a napkin over the table with a flourish. I forced a smile, meeting Dan’s gaze as he settled into his chair across from me, the flickering candlelight casting shadows on his face.

“Happy anniversary, Zoey,” he said softly, a warmth in his voice that cut through the cold knot in my stomach.

“Thanks,” I replied, my heart racing as I fought to maintain the façade.

How could I say what I really felt? How could I act like her when all I wanted was to scream and run?

The waiter returned with menus, and I let my eyes wander over the options. Everything looked delicious, but my thoughts were miles away—twisted around the notion of who I was now and who I’d been stolen from. 

“So I was thinking we could do our usual,” Dan suggested, excitement dancing in his eyes, “You know, share the seafood platter and then finish with that chocolate lava cake. What do you think?”

“Sure,” I said absently, “Sounds delicious!”

The evening slogged on, daring me to stay engaged in Dan’s meandering conversation topics. God, what did Zoey ever see in him?

I would down my wine while Dan wasn’t looking. Every sip brought with it a veil of numbness that made it easier to pretend I belonged here—to pretend that I was Zoey, a woman who had chosen this life.

I was starting to feel pretty tipsy.

Fuck it. I decided to have some fun with Dan.

I leaned forward, propping my chin on my hand as I stared into his eager eyes. 

"You know," I said, letting a playful smirk play on my lips, "I’ve been thinking about how lucky I am to have you in my life."

Dan's brow furrowed slightly, as if he were trying to read the underlying tone of my words, “Really? You mean that?”

“Of course,” I purred, letting the warmth of the wine embolden me, “You’re such a good husband. Always so caring and sweet.”

His face lit up, the corners of his mouth turning into a beaming smile. Damn, this guy was too easy.

He looked enchanted as he leaned across the table, capturing my gaze with an intensity that made me feel both trapped and oddly powerful, “You know I love you, right?”

The sincerity of his words hit me like a punch to the gut. This man truly believed in our life together.

I shifted uncomfortably, “Yeah… I, uh, love you, too, Dan.’

The wine and Dan’s unwavering affection began to chip away at my resolve. As the evening wore on, I found myself teasing and flirting with him. The alcohol dulled the edges of my resentment, and my laughter mixed with his in a way that felt dangerously real.

We stumbled back into the apartment, giggling like teenagers. Dan fumbled with the keys, and I pushed him playfully against the door before he could open it.

Then we kissed.