Just days ago, I had gone out of my way to make a trip home.
I knew Anthony’s family wasn’t wealthy. I had even planned to speak to my parents to ask them to lower the betrothal price, just so I wouldn’t add to his family’s burden.
When Anthony’s sister got married, they demanded 288,000 dollars.
I had told my parents we would only ask for a symbolic 88,000.
How foolish I had been, lowering my own worth so easily. Looking back now, I feel that my willingness to compromise felt nothing short of pathetic.
***
On Monday, Anthony returned.
He looked exhausted, his face drawn with guilt.
I acted as if I knew nothing.
That day, I had overheard him arguing with his parents. He had fought back—maybe not enough, but at least he had tried.
Perhaps a part of him still cared.
So, I decided to give him a chance. A chance to prove himself. A chance to fight for me… and for himself.
I set the table, filling two tall glasses with red wine.
Anthony adjusted his glasses, looking hesitant. Guilt flickered in his eyes.
"Aurelia, I’m sorry… I’ve been busy lately and didn’t prepare a gift."
Today marked our sixth anniversary.
Every year, he gave me something, no matter how small, that he always remembered.