Updated Nov 23, 2025 • ~7 min read
Five years ago
The apartment was dark when I got home.
Again.
I set my portfolio bag down, flicked on the lights, and surveyed our tiny one-bedroom in Wicker Park. Dishes from breakfast still in the sink. Jeremy’s coffee cup abandoned on the counter. His laptop bag by the door, which meant he’d been home at some point today.
Just not when I was here.
It was eight-thirty on our first anniversary.
I pulled out my phone. Three missed calls from my mom. Two texts from Julie asking how the celebration was going. One from the restaurant confirming our seven o’clock reservation.
The reservation Jeremy had missed.
No texts from my husband.
I called him. Straight to voicemail.
“Hey, it’s me. You missed dinner. Again. I waited at Piccolo’s for an hour. The waiter felt so bad he gave me free tiramisu.” I tried to keep my voice light. “I’m home now. Just… call me when you get this. Love you.”
I hung up, stared at our wedding photo on the mantle. We looked so happy. So young. So stupidly optimistic.
Had that really been only a year ago?
I changed into pajamas, poured wine, and settled on the couch with my sketchbook. This campaign for the tech startup wasn’t going to design itself.
At eleven-thirty, the door opened.
Jeremy stumbled in, tie loosened, jacket over his arm, looking exhausted.
“Hey,” he said, barely glancing at me. “You still up?”
“It’s our anniversary.”
He froze. Actually froze, his face going pale.
“Oh God. Roselyn, I—”
“Forgot. I know.” I closed my sketchbook. “The reservation was at seven.”
“I had a meeting with investors. It ran late and I lost track of time.” He moved toward me. “I’m so sorry. We can go out tomorrow, somewhere nice—”
“We can’t. You have that conference in San Francisco. You leave tomorrow morning.”
His expression confirmed it. He’d forgotten that too.
“The conference. Right.” He ran a hand through his hair. “When I get back then. We’ll do something special.”
“Will we? Or will something else come up? Another meeting, another investor, another crisis only you can handle?”
“That’s not fair.”
“Isn’t it?” I stood. “Jeremy, when was the last time we had dinner together? A real dinner, not takeout at eleven p.m. while you answered emails?”
“I’m building something here, Rose. Patterson Technologies is about to—”
“I know. Close a Series A funding round. I know because you’ve told me sixteen times. What you haven’t told me is when I became so low on your priority list that you can’t even remember our anniversary!”
“That’s not—” He stopped, clearly realizing he had no defense. “You’re right. I messed up. I’ll do better.”
“You always say that.”
“And I mean it.”
“Do you?” I felt tears building. “Because from where I’m standing, you mean the company. That’s all you mean. All you care about. And I’m just… here. In the background. The wife who shows up to company parties and smiles and doesn’t complain when her husband forgets she exists.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
Wrong thing to say.
“Dramatic? Jeremy, I sat alone at a restaurant on our anniversary for an hour. The waiter asked if I’d been stood up. Do you know how humiliating that was?”
“I said I’m sorry!”
“Sorry doesn’t fix this! Sorry doesn’t make up for the fact that I can’t remember the last time you touched me. The last time we had a real conversation. The last time you looked at me like I mattered!”
His jaw clenched. “You matter. Everything I’m doing is for us. For our future.”
“What future? The one where you work yourself to death and I’m a widow at thirty?”
“That’s not going to happen.”
“Isn’t it? You sleep four hours a night, Jeremy. You skip meals. Last week you passed out at your desk from exhaustion. When does it stop?”
“When the company is stable. When we have enough funding to—”
“It’ll never be enough!” My voice cracked. “There will always be another round, another investor, another goal. And I’ll always be waiting. Always second. Always alone.”
He stared at me, and for a moment I saw something in his eyes. Regret. Maybe even understanding.
Then his phone rang.
He glanced at it. Back at me.
“Don’t,” I whispered. “Please don’t answer.”
“It’s Zachary. From the venture capital firm. He’s—”
“I don’t care who it is.”
“Rose, this call could make or break the Series A.”
“And I’m asking you not to take it. Just this once. Choose me.”
We stood there, his phone ringing between us like a third person in our marriage.
He answered.
“Zachary, hey. Thanks for getting back to me.” He walked to the bedroom. “About the term sheet…”
I stood alone in our living room and felt something break inside me.
The next morning, I woke to an empty bed.
A note on the pillow: “Had to catch an early flight. Love you. – J”
No mention of our fight. No acknowledgment of what had happened.
Just… gone.
I spent that week looking at apartments. Just looking. Telling myself I was being dramatic, that all marriages went through rough patches.
But then Jeremy came back from San Francisco buzzing with energy.
“We got it,” he announced, pulling me into a hug. “The Series A. Twelve million dollars. Rose, we did it!”
“That’s amazing,” I said, trying to feel happy.
“This changes everything. We can hire more engineers, expand the product line, open an office in New York.” He was talking a mile a minute. “There’s so much to do. I’ll probably need to work even longer hours for the next few months, but—”
“Even longer hours?”
“Just temporarily. Until we—”
“No.” The word came out flat.
“No?”
“I can’t do this anymore, Jeremy. I can’t be married to someone who treats me like an afterthought.”
His excitement dimmed. “We talked about this. You know how important—”
“I need a husband who comes home. Who remembers anniversaries. Who chooses me over phone calls.” My voice shook. “I need to matter more than the company.”
“You do matter.”
“Then prove it. Cut back your hours. Delegate. Hire a COO to handle day-to-day operations.”
“I can’t do that. Not now. Not when we’re so close to—”
“To what? Success? Jeremy, you’ll always be chasing the next thing. It’ll never be enough.”
“You’re giving me an ultimatum?”
“I’m telling you what I need. What our marriage needs.”
He looked at me for a long moment. Then: “I can’t give you that. Not right now. I’m sorry, but I can’t.”
And there it was. The choice made.
“Then I can’t do this.” I pulled off my wedding ring. Set it on the counter. “I’ll stay at Julie’s tonight. We can figure out the details later.”
“Rose, don’t be—”
“I’m not being dramatic. I’m being honest. I love you, Jeremy. But I can’t compete with your ambition. And I won’t wait around hoping you’ll eventually choose me.”
I packed a bag. He watched, stunned.
At the door, I turned back. “If you want to fix this, you know where to find me.”
I waited three days for him to call.
He didn’t.
A week later, I filed for divorce.
He still didn’t call.
Two weeks after that, he sent the papers back.
Unsigned.
I assumed it was spite. Or stubbornness. Or his way of punishing me for leaving.
I refiled. Waited. Nothing.
Eventually, I gave up. Moved to a new apartment. Blocked his number. Started rebuilding.
And convinced myself I’d done the right thing.
Now, standing in my current apartment five years later, I wondered.
Had I done the right thing? Or had I just run away from something that could have been fixed?
My phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number.
I never signed because signing meant giving up. I’ve given up on everything in my life, Rose. But not you. Never you.
Jeremy.
Always Jeremy.
I stared at the message, remembering that girl who’d walked away hoping he’d fight for her.
He hadn’t fought then.
But he was fighting now.
The question was: did I want him to?
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