At a company party, Taylor Kennedy plays a game of mouth-to-mouth cookie biting with his female assistant as everyone watches.

I blend into the crowd and laugh along. The room instantly falls silent.

The assistant bursts into tears and plays the victim. Taylor lets go of her, turns to me, and coldly scolds me in front of the entire company. He berates me for not knowing how to read the room and being a buzzkill.

Then, without hesitation, he wraps his arm around the assistant and kisses her deeply as I watch.

If this were before, I would've stormed over in a rage and ripped them apart. Then, I would've humiliated her in front of everyone, not caring whose pride I trampled.

But now, I feel nothing. Not even as I watch them kiss. Not even though today marks my ten-year anniversary with Taylor.

After the gathering ended, I stood at the entrance as usual to see my colleagues off while waiting for Taylor Kennedy to pull out from the parking lot.

When a car sprayed with bright pink paint stopped in front of me, I was somewhat confused.

The window rolled down, revealing Yvonne Carter sitting comfortably in the front passenger seat. She smiled sweetly and said, "Faith, I get carsick in the back. You won't mind, would you?"

I looked down as I recalled the time I'd pleaded with Taylor to hang the little charm I'd crocheted by hand in his car.

He'd responded impatiently, "That thing doesn't match my car's aesthetic. If anyone sees it, they're going to make fun of me."

So, a pink car matched his aesthetic, then? Was that not embarrassing for him?

I didn't say much. I quietly opened the rear door and got in.

In the past, I probably would have made a scene and told Yvonne to get out. But now, I couldn't be bothered anymore.

Even Taylor was surprised by my reaction and stopped acting affectionate with Yvonne openly.

When we arrived home, I told him to return early after dropping Yvonne off. Although he promised to do so with a smile, it was already two in the morning by the time he came back.

Our wedding anniversary had passed.

I was scrolling through my Instagram feed when I saw a new post from Yvonne. It was a photo of her holding roses with the caption, "No matter how busy he is, he never forgets my birthday."

In the corner of the picture, I recognized the hand wearing a familiar wedding ring.

Taylor opened the door and saw me still waiting in the living room with a cake I had made on the table. He walked over with a smile and hugged my waist.

"What's the occasion? Why did you make a cake?"

Then, he smeared some cream on my face. "It tastes better than it looks."

In the past, if he had forgotten our anniversary and then dismissed my efforts like this, I would have felt hurt and argued with him. However, I didn't feel like wasting my breath this time around.

I pulled away from his arms and tossed the cake into the trash. I had spent three hours making that cake just for him. But now, I didn't want him to have a bite.

Taylor frowned and went back to the bedroom. Perhaps he noticed the marked calendar on the table because he came back out holding a jewelry box.

He stood before me and slipped a necklace around my neck. I ran my fingers over it slowly.

"It's only a wedding anniversary. It's not a big deal that it slipped my mind. Do you have to give me an attitude over it? Just take this necklace as your gift."

With that, he turned and headed for the shower.

Each time after Taylor lashed out at me, he'd give me a gift.

It was his version of an apology, as well as our unspoken way of making up.

I listened to the sound of water running in the bathroom, removed the necklace from my neck, and placed it back in the box.

Just then, his phone lit up. It was a message from Yvonne.

"Taylor, I had such a great time tonight. Can't wait to see you tomorrow!"

The moment I glanced at the message, the water had stopped running at some point. Taylor stood behind me and demanded coldly, "Why are you looking at my phone?"

"I'm not—ah!"

He shoved me aside in anger. I lost my balance and fell hard to the floor. My arm scraped against the corner of the table, leaving a long gash, and my ankle was twisted.

Immediately, tears fell from my eyes. Nevertheless, Taylor didn't hurry to comfort me. Instead, he thought I'd hurt myself on purpose to win his sympathy.

With a look of irritation, he fetched the first-aid kit and began treating my wound. I didn't resist.

Halfway through, his phone rang. It was Yvonne's custom ringtone.

I once asked Taylor to set a custom ringtone for me, too. Yet, he'd claimed I was being childish.

On the phone, Yvonne whined, "Taylor, I think I drank too much… I feel awful and can't sleep."

Upon ending the call, Taylor didn't bother to finish tending to my wound. He simply grabbed the hangover medicine I had prepared and left promptly.

He ignored me when I called after him. I lowered my head and let my final tears fall.

After that, I called my best friend, Willa Collins. She rushed over and brought me to the hospital.

Once my wound was treated, Willa cast me a complicated look as she struggled with her words.

I knew what she wanted to say. She was probably wondering where Taylor had gone at this hour. But in the end, she didn't voice her question, and I didn't explain.

When Taylor finally came back, it was already evening. I was sitting on the couch, watching TV.

He glanced at the dining table to find it empty.

"Why didn't you make dinner?"

I turned to look at him and gestured toward my bandaged wound. While his expression shifted slightly, he quickly composed himself. A flicker of annoyance flashed across his eyes.

"Couldn't you have just ordered takeout?"

After all, he'd texted me an hour ago, saying he was coming home for dinner.

I shook my head calmly, unfazed by his frustration.

"My phone was charging in the bedroom. I didn't see your message."

Taylor opened his mouth as if to say something. Eventually, he sat down beside me and cast several glances my way, but I didn't acknowledge him.

Finally, he got up decisively and started making dinner in the kitchen.

In the ten years we'd been married, I had always been the one to cook. I couldn't bear to see him tired, and he'd never mentioned he could cook anyway.

It didn't take long before Taylor emerged with a simple meal.

He carried me to the table. I didn't tell him I'd already eaten and just quietly accepted the food he'd made for me for the first time.

Taylor looked at me and said, "This is all I know how to make. Next time, remember to order takeout."

He was lying.

That very afternoon, he had cooked an elaborate meal for Yvonne. It was beautifully plated and rich in flavor. She'd posted it on her social media with pride.

It was also the first time I learned that Taylor could cook.

I ate silently without replying. After a few bites, I was full. I placed my spoon down and stood to leave.

Taylor seemed to want to pull me into his arms again, but I instinctively leaned away. The motion knocked over my plate, and it shattered on the floor.

Taylor let out a sneer.

"Faith, what are you throwing a tantrum for this time? Is it because I forgot you were injured? Because I didn't finish tending to your wound last night? You're seriously still mad about that?"

"I'm not," I answered honestly.

But Taylor didn't believe me.

He narrowed his eyes in disdain and continued, "Oh, please. You used to throw full-blown tantrums, but they don't work. Now you think staying silent and acting unbothered is going to make me feel bad?

"Grow up, Faith. We've been married ten years, yet you're still playing these immature games like a little girl. Can't you use your brain for once?"

Lately, Taylor would bring up our age gap every time we fought.

Yes, compared to Yvonne, I wasn't a little girl anymore. Whenever he brought it up, I'd lose control. I'd yell and demand if he'd fallen for another girl. It only made him more irritated with me.

Not this time, though. I replied indifferently, "I never thought that. You can believe whatever you want."

Then I limped off to the guest room.

Whenever we argued, Taylor would make me sleep in the guest room. If I resisted, he'd lock the door to the master bedroom and leave me crying outside.

However, as I took the initiative this time, Taylor suddenly carried me back to the master bedroom.

"Faith, stop being so stubborn!"

Even though we lay on the same bed, there was enough space between us to fit another person.

Taylor was keeping his distance because of my swollen ankle, whereas I was keeping mine because I couldn't bear his touch anymore.

It hadn't always been like this. I used to curl up in his arms every night for a sense of security. But now, I couldn't sleep a wink due to his presence.

The next morning, I asked Taylor to call in sick for me so I could stay home and rest.

On the day I finally recovered, I came across an Instagram story of one of Taylor's childhood friends. They'd gone hiking. Everyone else had brought their girlfriends along, and Taylor had brought Yvonne.

In the video, Taylor was very protective of Yvonne, who leaned into him with a soft, shy smile.

I casually gave the story a like.

Moments later, it was deleted, and Taylor's video call came through.

He seemed to be hiding somewhere quiet as he spoke hesitantly, "Faith, don't overthink it. I didn't invite you to hike with us because of your ankle."

"Overthink what?"

"I brought Yvonne along instead of you… You're not mad?"

"Why would I be? You said it yourself—I couldn't have gone anyway because of my injury."

My voice was utterly calm without a trace of sadness or anger in it.

Taylor went silent.

Then, Yvonne's saccharine voice rang out in the background, "Faith, I was the one who begged Taylor to let me tag along when I heard he was going. Please don't misunderstand."

If one listened closely, there was a hint of smugness she couldn't quite hide.

"Yvonne, enjoy your hike with Taylor. I'm sure he'll take good care of you," I answered evenly and hung up the phone without waiting for a response.

It wasn't a lie. I did believe he'd take good care of her. After all, when Yvonne got drunk the other day, he had abandoned me despite my injuries and rushed to her side.

That night, Taylor came home with my favorite food. He kept observing my expression, as though hoping to spot some trace of anger.

Too bad for him—I wasn't angry.

After I showered, he handed me a dress.

"Babe, it's been a while since you bought new clothes. Try this one and see if you like it."

I looked down at the dress in my hands. It was obviously not my style. After accepting it, I looked up at him and saw only my reflection in his eyes.

Taylor's gaze was tender. It was hard to believe he didn't love me when he looked at me like that. I used to be obsessed with that look, wishing he'd never take his eyes off me.

But now, I lowered my head and avoided his gaze.

"The dress is beautiful, but it's not for me. You should give it to someone who suits it better."