The news anchor's voice cut through the quiet hum of the apartment, a jarring intrusion. \"Rose, did Ethan and you divorce? I've just seen him on the news. It says he went to pick up the love of his life.\" Natalie's words, sharp and sudden, hung in the air, a cruel counterpoint to the celebratory dinner Rose had painstakingly prepared.

A half-laugh escaped Rose, brittle and disbelieving. \"What are you talking about?\"

\"Girl, turn on the news. Now!\" Natalie commanded, before the line went dead.

Rose's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat of denial. Surely, there was a mistake. But as she rushed to the sitting room and turned on the television, the vibrant images on the screen stole the air from her lungs. Her knees buckled, and her heart plummeted.

Pictures of Ethan, her husband, with a woman of breathtaking beauty, were splashed across every channel. His hand was on her waist, his gaze — oh, that gentle, adoring gaze — was fixed solely on her. A gaze Rose had never, not once, seen directed at her. Needles seemed to prick her skin, each one a fresh stab of realization. \n\nReporters swarmed them, their voices a cacophony of questions. \"What a beautiful couple, is she the mysterious wife you've kept hidden Mr. Sinclair?\"

\"You two suit each other! A match made in heaven. Do you have any plans for your third anniversary?\"

Rose snatched the remote, plunging the room into silence. \"Beautiful couple?\" The words tasted like sand, gritty and bitter on her tongue. She walked back to the dining table, the untouched food a cruel mockery. Tears streamed down her face, a silent river of pain, as she instinctively rubbed her stomach. Inside, a new life stirred, a life she had planned to share with Ethan tonight. But now, her heart felt like a crumpled, discarded thing, squeezed by an invisible iron fist. It was their anniversary, and his first love had returned.