“But if you look at it another way, being married to a successful plastic surgeon has its advantages. You can keep me looking young for free. Well? Don’t just stand there—grab a couple glasses.”
He gave a crooked smile. “You really think a marriage built on convenience makes people happy? I don’t. But I’ll take the drink.”
“I feel awful,” he admitted. “I can’t get Natalie out of my head. I dream about her. I miss her all the time. Honestly, I’d like to drink enough tonight to stop thinking for a while.”
One glass became two, then three.
When he woke up, he made a sickening discovery: they were under the same blanket. Eugene sat bolt upright. His memory was a blank. Olivia was lying beside him, calm as could be.
He shook her awake. “Olivia, wake up. What happened? Did we…?”
She laughed. “Come on, Gene. What do you think? You think I just ended up here by accident? Of course something happened.”
“You seriously don’t remember? That’s almost insulting. You were very charming, by the way.” Eugene sat on the edge of the bed and buried his face in his hands.
“Olivia, I’m sorry. I don’t even know what to say. I was drunk, and this was a mistake. I still love Natalie.”
Olivia’s expression hardened. “No, don’t do that. You don’t get to sleep with me and then pretend it meant nothing. As of now, we’re together.”
“And if you decide otherwise, I’ll tell my father everything. You know exactly who he knows and what he can do. So let’s not make this messy. Call me a car—I’m heading home.”
“Tomorrow night we’re going to an art opening. Dad got us two VIP tickets. And really, stop mourning that girl who left you. She’s gone. Life moves on.” That was how their relationship began—under pressure, not affection.
Before long, worn down by family expectations, Eugene agreed to a lavish wedding. The real tragedy was that he felt nothing for his wife. As the years passed, she mostly irritated him.
To outsiders they looked polished and impressive. Olivia was always elegant, and Eugene had grown into a striking, accomplished man. At charity events and formal dinners, they played the role of the perfect couple.
They smiled, held hands, and looked every bit the success story. But once they were home, they went to separate rooms. They had almost nothing to say to each other.
Olivia cared about designer stores, fashion events, and luxury vacations. Eugene buried himself in work. It became his refuge. Through discipline and talent, he rose quickly.
By thirty-five, he had become one of the city’s most respected plastic surgeons. Politicians, entertainers, and wealthy clients waited months for appointments, trusting his skill and his discretion. He never discussed who came through his office, and that professional code made him even more sought after.
The years passed, and even the work he loved began to feel routine. What Eugene missed—more than he wanted to admit—was a real home, real affection, and the sound of children in the house.
That was exactly what his life lacked. He had asked Olivia many times to think about having a child, but she refused. She stayed on birth control and said plainly she had no interest in sacrificing her figure or her sleep for a baby.
She was perfectly content with a comfortable life funded by a successful husband. The lack of love in the marriage didn’t bother her. As long as he didn’t drink too much, cheat, or question her spending, she was satisfied.
Eugene, meanwhile, had been feeling a deep, steady loneliness. And now, with that old song playing, he had to work to keep himself composed. His thirst had become almost unbearable when he spotted a young woman standing by the roadside.
She was selling farm milk and cottage cheese, shifting from foot to foot in the cold and wrapped in a thick shawl. Eugene suddenly thought how good a bottle of real fresh milk would taste. He hadn’t had any in years. It seemed like as good a reason as any to pull over…
