On our two-year anniversary, he brought me back to the same Indian restaurant for supper. My friends had been saying that he would propose; my heart was full of that hope.

His cell phone rang. He was in the bathroom; he must’ve left it behind by mistake. I picked it up, just interested to see the photo on the screen. She was beautiful. Probably ten years older than I. She wore her brown hair short, and very little make-up on her face. She was smiling the smile you give a man you love. I froze instantly, painfully. He has another girlfriend, my negativity said.

“Hello?” I hadn’t meant to answer the phone, but I wanted to know if it was another girlfriend. The curiousity was killing me.

“Hi, is James there?” A very soft voice.

“Not at the moment. Can I take a message?”

“Tell him Sheila called,” there was a bit of bitterness.

“Are you his secretary?” Hope, hope, hope.

“No. I’m his wife. And you must be Jessica.”

“His wife?” Please, no. “For how long?”

“Ten years.”