My CEO Husband Regretted After I left

After I was discharged from the hospital, there were only three days left until our twentieth wedding anniversary.

Alexander seemed to be suffering from a guilty conscience for abandoning me before surgery.

For the first time in forever, he booked a table at the most exclusive revolving rooftop restaurant in the city. He swore to me, his hand over his heart:

"Evelyn, I was wrong that day. I need to make it up to you for this anniversary. I booked the best table in the house. Just the two of us. No kids, no work, no distractions."

I didn't refuse. This was our last anniversary.

On the night of the anniversary.

The restaurant was dimly lit, the atmosphere heavy with romance, accompanied by a live string quartet.

Just as the appetizers arrived, Alexander’s phone started vibrating against the white tablecloth.

It was a FaceTime request.

Alexander glanced at me, hesitated for a split second, and then tapped the green button.

On the screen, the background was a dark, chaotic nightclub with flashing strobe lights.

Chloe’s face was flushed, her eyes glazed over. She was holding a bottle of vodka, crying and screaming into the camera: "Alex! Where are you? I miss you... sob... These guys are creeping on me. I want to go home..."

Alexander’s face turned ashen. He shot up from his chair.

"She's drunk at a club! That place is a dive; it’s dangerous. She’s a girl all alone; something bad is going to happen!"

I sat there, silverware still in hand, looking at him calmly. "Alexander, today is our twentieth anniversary. You promised. Tonight was supposed to be just us."

"For God's sake, how can you be keeping score right now?" Alexander

shouted as he grabbed his trench coat. "This is a matter of life and death! Why are you so selfish? An anniversary happens every year; can't we just celebrate it next year?"

Without waiting for me to say another word, he turned and stormed out.

All he left me with was his back, walking away.

Again.

I looked down at the exquisite tuna tartare in front of me. Suddenly, I had no appetite.

I raised my hand and signaled the waiter. "Check, please."

Late that night, I was packing the final few items of clothing into my suitcase.

My phone buzzed.

It was a text from Chloe. Attached was a photo.

The background was the back seat of Alexander’s Maybach. Alexander was leaning back, eyes closed, resting. Chloe’s head was resting intimately on his shoulder, and they were both covered by his suit jacket.

The caption was short and arrogant: "I only have to say one word, and he leaves you to come running to me. Give it up, sis. He has always been mine."

I looked at the photo and calmly pressed "Delete."

I didn't reply. I tossed the phone onto the bed and turned back to place my toiletry bag into the suitcase.