Everyone laughed. I laughed too. I have always been good at laughing.
There were other things I was good at ignoring, or at least that was what I told myself.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, a quiet list had started writing itself.
* The way Aaron took quiet phone calls in the garage, his voice lowering the moment I opened the door.
* The locked drawer in his desk that he claimed held “old tax stuff.”
* The name “Vanessa” that flashed across his phone one night, which he dismissed as a coworker.
“You’re not the jealous type, are you, baby?” my long-term boyfriend asked, smiling.
I was not. I made certain of that.
Then, last spring, on an ordinary Tuesday, Aaron dropped to one knee in our kitchen.
There were no candles, no grand speech. Just him looking up at me with wet eyes.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” he whispered. “Marry me.”
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