We were meant to celebrate my parents’ 40th anniversary—matching red shirts, dinner baking in the oven, and a cake from the bakery my mom always calls “too much but worth it.” I snapped a photo before dinner; they looked happy, but I noticed Mom fiddling with her necklace and smiling without warmth in her eyes. Later, while doing dishes, I asked if she was okay. She said, “He’s a good man, just not the same man I married,” and told me sometimes people grow apart without even realizing it. She asked me to promise never to wait forty years before speaking up if something feels wrong.
Just then, Dad came back from a walk, looking nervous, carrying a small paper bag. He’d overheard us. Inside was a simple gold bracelet. He admitted he hadn’t been the best partner but wanted to try again. Mom laughed, surprised, saying it wasn’t about the gift—it was about starting somewhere. She let him put the bracelet on her wrist, and for the first time that evening, her smile seemed genuine.