Some love burns fast and dies faster—like paper in a fire, turning to ash before you even feel the warmth.
The first light of morning spilled through the curtains, golden and quiet. Anna stirred under the covers, her eyes still heavy from the night before.
Tiny fingers brushed through her hair.
Her eyes blinked open, meeting a pair of wide, brown ones staring back.
"Aiden?" she whispered with a soft smile.
"Good morning, Mummy," he grinned, showing off the gap in his teeth like a prize.
"Morning, baby." She reached up, ruffling his curls. "Did you sleep well?"
"I waited for you," Aiden pouted, folding his arms. "You didn't come home."
Anna's smile faded. Her chest tightened as last night's memories crept back in. She had gotten home at midnight. Aiden was curled up asleep on the couch. She'd carried him to bed in silence, careful not to wake him. The nanny got a stern talking-to for letting him stay up that late—just because she wasn't around.
Andy hadn't come home at all. Again.
He was probably with her. The thought stung like salt in an open wound.
"I'm sorry, baby," Anna said, pushing the ache down. "Mummy had an emergency."
"Okay, Mummy," he said with a forgiving smile only children seem to know how to give.
Anna sat up, pulled him into her lap, and looked him in the eyes. "Promise me something, okay? Even if I'm not home, don't stay up. Bedtime is bedtime."
Aiden nodded. "Yes, Mummy."
"Good boy," she said, kissing his forehead before tickling his belly.
"Mummy!" he squealed, laughing. "That tickles!"
Anna laughed too, the sound light and soft, the kind that hadn't left her lips in days. Aiden's laughter was the only bright spot in her dim world. Ever since she married Andy four years ago, her son had been her anchor—the only reason she hadn't thrown in the towel.
"I love you, baby boy," she whispered, drinking in every detail of his little face. He had her big brown eyes and her freckles. His curls were Andy's. So were his thin lips. But everything else—every good, sweet, innocent part—was hers.
"I love you too, Momma," Aiden said, wrapping his little arms around her as far as they could go.
"Let's go get you ready for school."
"Okay," he said, hopping off the bed.
They went through the usual morning rhythm—brushing, dressing, and making breakfast. The kitchen smelled of toast and scrambled eggs. Juice glasses clinked gently against the plates.
Then the front door opened.
Andy walked in.
Anna froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. Andy looked worn out, like a man who hadn't slept or was hiding something he wished he could forget.
"You're home," she said, rising from her chair.
"Good morning, Daddy!" Aiden beamed, always happy to see his father.
"Good morning, son," Andy said, pressing a kiss to his forehead.
Anna's eyes narrowed. "Where were you last night?"
Andy loosened his tie and barely spared her a glance. "Is that your business?"
Her mouth opened, but no words came. She stared at him. Is this who he's become?
"It is my business, Andy," she said, stepping in front of him, arms folded. "I'm your wife. I have a right to know."
He chuckled bitterly. "Wife? You're only my wife on paper. You're not my partner. You were never the woman I dreamed of."
The words slammed into her chest like bricks.
She stared at him, stunned. "Why? What did I do? What changed?"
Andy looked away. He tried to walk past her, but she grabbed his sleeve.
"Just tell me," she pleaded. "If I did something wrong, let me fix it."
He gently peeled her hand off.
"You didn't do anything wrong," he said, cold and distant. "You just don't belong in my life anymore."
Anna's voice cracked. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, look at you," Andy said. "It's been four years. You've let yourself go. You don't bring anything to the table. I can't even introduce you as my wife without feeling embarrassed."
His words were blades, slicing clean through her.
She stepped back. "You're ashamed of me? Because of how I look?"
Andy shrugged. "Maybe no one's told you the truth. You look like a sack of potatoes."
Anna let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Oh, I see. This is what we're doing now. Andy Roberts—body-shaming his own wife."
He didn't flinch. He just stared.
She pointed at herself, rage mixing with heartbreak. "This body—this mess you talk about—gave you a son. I carried him. I became a mother for you."
Her voice rose, her hands trembling. But then her eyes met Aiden's.
He sat frozen, tea cup at his lips, eyes wide and confused.
"Go to your room, sweetheart," Anna said softly, holding back her tears. "Mummy will be there soon."
Aiden didn't say a word. He left quietly, the sound of his feet fading up the stairs until the door clicked shut.
Anna turned back to Andy.
"This is about her, isn't it?"
Andy's jaw tensed. "Who?"
"Penelope Kings," she said, dragging out the Mrs like venom.
His face twisted. "Don't you dare say her name."
"Why not?" Anna snapped. "She's your mistress, isn't she? Your married mistress."
"Watch it," Andy warned. "You don't hold a candle to that woman. You never have. You never will."
The tears came fast, running down her cheeks like rain on glass.
"You'll never stop, will you?" she whispered. "You'll never stop reminding me I'm not enough. You'll keep tearing me down until there's nothing left."
Andy looked away, a flicker of guilt crossing his face—but he buried it fast.
"I need to rest," he said coldly, and walked upstairs.
Anna stood there, stunned. Empty. Alone.
Then she sank into the nearest chair, her heart in pieces, her mind spinning, and her soul screaming for air.