Three Years and Eighteen Goodbyes

By evening, I had finished packing and collapsed onto the bed, drained and exhausted.

Just then, my best friend called.

“What the hell is going on with Kit? He’s completely out of line. Have you seen his social media?

“He’s flaunting his relationship with that vixen Katy like it’s some fairytale romance.

“You two aren’t even divorced—how can he do this?”

As she ranted, I casually scrolled through Instagram.

Right at the top of my feed was a new post from Katy.

In the photo, she wore a Van Cleef & Arpels clover necklace around her neck and held the same red gift bag Kit had picked up from home earlier.

That’s when it hit me.

He had returned at noon just to grab her present.

Below the image was a caption that made my stomach turn:

[Three years of knowing you, and I’m so lucky to have you, Kit. Happy third anniversary!]

Then it dawned on me.

Anniversary?

That’s right. Today was supposed to be our third wedding anniversary.

But we had never once celebrated it.

Not even enough for me to remember it.

I let out a long breath and finally replied to my friend.

“He doesn’t need to file for a divorce. We never got our marriage license.”

“What? You’ve been married three years, and Kit never made it official?”

Her shock nearly blew out my eardrum through the speaker.

Yes.

The wedding was three years ago, and he had called off registering our marriage seventeen times.