Chapter 2 – The Days He Forgot Me

The days that followed were quiet. Anna still smiled every morning, but her eyes had lost their shine. Ethan left for work early and came home late. She still made breakfast and dinner, but most of the time, she ate alone. The house that once echoed with laughter now felt silent. Still, she waited, hoping that one day he would notice her again.

One evening, she set the table beautifully. She made his favorite dish and placed candles on the side. When Ethan came home, he didn’t even look at the food. He said, “I already ate outside.” Her smile faded. She said softly, “I cooked this for you.” Ethan replied, “Anna, please, I’m tired.” Then he walked away. She stood there, holding the plate in her hands, hearing nothing but her own heart breaking.

Every day started to feel the same. He left without saying goodbye. He came home without saying goodnight. She tried to start conversations, but his answers were short. When she asked, “Are you okay?” he said, “I’m fine, just busy.” When she asked, “Do you still love me?” he stayed silent. That silence said everything.

Anna began to hide her pain behind fake smiles. When her friends called, she laughed and said, “We’re doing great.” She didn’t want anyone to know how lonely she was. She started spending her evenings writing letters she never sent. In one letter, she wrote, “You’re here, but I feel like I’ve already lost you.” She folded it and kept it inside her diary.

Sometimes, she tried to surprise him. She bought him a new shirt, his favorite color. When she gave it to him, he said, “You didn’t need to spend money on this.” She smiled weakly and said, “I just wanted to see you happy.” He didn’t even open the box that night.

One weekend, she asked him to go out. “Let’s take a small trip, Ethan. Just us,” she said softly. He didn’t look up from his phone. “I have meetings next week. Maybe later,” he replied. She looked at him and said, “You always say later.” He didn’t answer.

She missed how he used to hold her hand, how he used to call her name with love. Now even when they sat together, there was a wall between them. He scrolled through his phone. She stared at him in silence. She whispered, “You’re here, but I can’t reach you.”

Days passed. One night, she waited for him again. The clock showed midnight. He came home smelling of alcohol. She opened the door and said, “I was worried.” He frowned and said, “Stop acting like my mother.” Her tears fell, but she stayed quiet. When he went inside, she stood near the door, holding her heart as if it might fall apart.

The next morning, she tried to act normal. She made breakfast and said cheerfully, “Good morning.” He didn’t reply. He left without even looking at her. The sound of the door closing felt louder than ever. She sat down and whispered, “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

That week, her birthday came. She hoped he would remember. She wore a new dress and baked a small cake. She waited the whole evening. At midnight, she realized he had forgotten. She blew out the candle alone and whispered, “Happy birthday to me.” Then she wiped her tears and smiled to hide her pain.

The next day, Ethan saw the leftover cake. He asked, “What’s this?” She smiled faintly and said, “Nothing important.” He didn’t ask again. That was the moment Anna’s heart started to close. She still loved him, but a part of her had given up.

In the following days, she grew quieter. She stopped asking questions. She stopped expecting answers. She began writing in her diary every night. Her words were full of sadness, but she still ended each page with hope. One night she wrote, “Maybe tomorrow he will notice I’m hurting. Maybe he will care again.”

But tomorrow never came. Ethan became even more distant. He spent weekends outside, saying he needed rest. Anna spent them alone, watching old photos and wondering where their love had gone. She talked to herself in the mirror and said, “You can’t fix someone who doesn’t want to be fixed.”

One evening, she tried to talk again. “Ethan, we don’t even talk anymore,” she said quietly. He looked up and said coldly, “What do you want me to say, Anna? Not everything stays the same.” Those words cut deeper than any fight. She looked at him and whispered, “Then what are we now?” He didn’t answer. He walked away, leaving her standing in the middle of the room.

That night, she sat on the floor with her diary in her lap. Her tears fell on the paper. She wrote slowly, “Love doesn’t die in one day. It disappears piece by piece, just like we did.” She closed the book and held it to her chest, as if it could still protect her from the emptiness.