"I saw a story online about a couple married for ten years. The husband cheated in the end. I just feel sorry for the woman," I said lightly, making up a lie.
Matthew let out a sigh of relief and teased, "Is that all? That tragedy will never happen to you. Miranda, you should know how much I can't live without you. You are my life."
Listening to his resolute promises, I didn't run into his arms to act coy like I usually would. Instead, I gave a faint smile and nodded.
After dinner, Matthew belatedly noticed something unusual, the room felt emptier. Our wedding photo was gone.
"Miranda, where's our wedding picture?" His voice trembled slightly and his dark eyes betrayed a flicker of panic.
Of course, I threw it out. Yesterday, when I came home and saw that giant wedding photo on the wall, it felt like it was mocking me. I smashed it and discarded it without hesitation.
"The nails on the wall loosened and it fell. The frame broke, so I sent it to be repaired," I explained calmly. Matthew believed me without suspicion.
On the surface, we returned to our sweet, loving routine. But for me, it was all an act.