She stretched lazily on the couch, her eyes half-closed, like she was doing me a favor. In the past, I would’ve jumped at the chance to take a photo together, carefully setting the cake and lighting candles, crafting a thoughtful caption for social media. It was a rare privilege, after all. Sacha rarely allowed me to post pictures of us, always claiming that our relationship was private and there was no need for others to get involved as long as we were happy. Over time, those photos had become more of a reward than a shared moment.
But this time, I just looked at her and shook my head. “No need,” I said, my voice even. “If you’re tired, go rest. I’ve got to head to work anyway.”
Her casual smile faltered, her brows knitting into a frown. “Fine! Forget it,” she snapped, glaring as she stood up abruptly. She didn’t storm off right away, though. Instead, after seeing that I was unmoved, she flung her bag at me in a fit of irritation. It hit me hard enough to sting, and with that, she slammed the bedroom door behind her, the sound echoing through the quiet apartment.