Echoes of a Stolen Glance

There he was—her first love. The man who had stolen her heart before she even noticed. She was already madly in love with him, had fallen hard. She thought she'd never see him again.

"Baby!" The voice of the man whose last name she now bore jolted her back to reality.

"Ye... es," she answered, a bit shaken.

"What are you looking at? Patrick is crying." Patrick was their third child, just six months old. They were at the mall shopping for groceries. "Oh! Let me have him. I’ll be in the car. Clare, the cart, please."

"Ok," she replied, receiving a peck on the cheek. She walked off. They had been married for seven years now.

A tear slid down her cheek as she glanced to her left—where she had seen him. But he was no longer there. Why am I even looking for him? So what if I saw him? It’s already too late.

She had just finished breastfeeding her baby when her husband got into the car.

"Baby, are you done?"

"Yes, I'm done. Let’s go."

"Ok, but baby, your mood has changed. Is everything okay?"

"My mood? No. No, I'm fine."

"Is there something you wanted to get at the mall?"

"No, I’m really fine."

"Okay," he replied.

It had been two days since she saw him, but her mood hadn’t improved. Tears still slipped down her cheeks when no one was watching. She missed him.

"Baby, I'm dropping the kids off at school, then heading to work," her husband said.

"Oh, okay. Take care."

She brought out a box and took out a photo album. Their happiness radiated from their smiles. Those were the best days of her life. She had wanted to marry him. They both wanted to. They were so in love. But at 28, her family was pressuring her. Aron, the next promising suitor, was rich, educated, and ready for marriage. She still remembered how they cried when she ended it with him.

"Babe, please don’t do this to us. I’m working hard. It’ll pay off soon and we can be happy," he pleaded through tears.

"When?" she asked, tears flowing. "When I’m 35? 40? We've been hoping for four years now and there’s no breakthrough. I’m tired, babe. You’re a man—you can marry at 45 or even 50. But I don’t have that much time. I’m a woman. Please, let me go."

He cried, "It won’t take that long."

"And if it does?" she asked.

"I’d still want you."

He sounded sincere, but her mind was made up. "Just let me go," she said, forcing her way out of his house despite his efforts to stop her. The next few weeks were painful. She avoided his calls, but each one tore her apart.

"Don’t be sad, my dear. Aron is a good man. He’ll take care of you," her mother always consoled her. "You’ll move to another city after the wedding. You won’t have to see him again."

Indeed, Aron was a good man. He loved her, supported her dreams. Being with him wasn’t hard. His gifts and kindness made her smile. For a while, she forgot what happiness once felt like.

A picture fell from the album. She smiled. It was their second anniversary. They had visited the park and had a great time. “Mama, stop, you’ll fall!” he called as she laughed and ran. She was so happy.

A vibration from her lap snapped her back—her husband was calling.

"Hello, baby."

"I forgot to remind you—the dinner party is today."

"Oh, okay."

"You’re coming with me, right?"

"Yes."

"Okay, I’ll call the babysitter. See you later."

At the dinner, she had just taken her seat beside her husband, who was greeting his friends, when she saw him again. He was in the crowd, greeting guests. Their eyes met. She froze. So did he.

"I want to use the restroom," she said.

"Should I come with you?"

"No, I’ll be fine."

She made her way out, avoiding his gaze. In the mirror, she asked herself, Why is he here? Is he one of the business associates?

After what felt like eternity, she stepped out—and met him at the door. Her heart pounded.

"You still look beautiful," he muttered.

She smiled. "You don’t look bad yourself."

"Really?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

They burst out laughing.

"Are you married?" she asked.

"No, but—"

His phone rang.

"I should go now," he said, giving her a peck and handing her his card. "Call me."

He hurried off. She smiled and returned to her seat.

"Baby, are you okay?" her husband asked.

"Yes," she smiled. The party ended. At home, her husband noticed.

"Your mood’s changed."

"Really?" she smiled again.

"Maybe I should take you to more dinners."

"Oh, please," they both laughed.

That night, her husband touched her. She wasn’t in the mood.

"Not now, I’m tired. Aren’t you?"

"No, baby. Just one round, please."

"Let me sleep. I can’t."

He sighed and stopped. He wasn’t happy, but she didn’t care. Over the years, their sex life had dwindled. Mostly, it happened when she was ovulating. But with him—her first love—every moment was electric, adventurous. She remembered the card. She’d call in the morning.

The next morning was quiet. Her husband seemed distant.

"I’m taking the kids to school."

"Okay. Is there anything you need?"

"No, nothing. I’ll go to the store later."

She went to get the card—but it wasn’t there. She searched everywhere. It was gone. Like it never existed.

She went to the store, hoping to see him. Nothing. Desperate, she contacted her husband’s friend who hosted the dinner.

"I don’t know him. He must’ve come with someone else," he said.

It was over. No way to find him. She was heartbroken.

Years passed quickly.

"Ba...by," her husband called, breath labored.

"Yes, do you need something?"

He pulled something from his pocket—a small, washed-out note.

"What’s that?"

He sighed. "I couldn’t let you call him. I’ve always known you didn’t love me the way I loved you. Your heart has always been with him. But I couldn’t lose you."

"What?" she exclaimed.

"I took the card. I saw you two. You smiled like I’d never seen. Only when you look at our kids do you smile that way. If I'd let you call him, I’d have lost you. I found the photo album after our first child. I asked your sister. She told me everything. I begged her not to mention it to you."

"You’ve held onto this for 60 years?" she asked, tears streaming.

"I’m sorry, baby. I looooove yooo—" he gasped. She ran to get the doctor, but it was too late.

Five years after his burial, she hadn’t been feeling well. At the hospital with her youngest child, she waited.

A man yelled, “I can walk myself, leave me alone!”

That voice. She turned—but he didn’t see her.

"Mummy, I’m done," her son called. "Let’s go."

"Okay," she said.

As they walked in the opposite direction, she smiled. A tear slipped down her cheek.

"Mummy, are you okay?"

"I’m fine," she replied, patting his hand. He lived a long life, she thought.