I DIDN’T LOVE you all 50 YEARS. Because you… – the man declared at the wedding anniversary. Guests FROZE from the wife’s response…

The wedding was modest. They went to the courthouse in an old Ford from John’s friend, gathered only the closest in a diner. Patricia didn’t come, citing a new job she couldn’t refuse. At least that’s how she explained it in her short congratulatory letter. Helen remembered crying all night before the wedding. «Why do I need a husband who loves another?» she asked the ceiling, but found no answer. In the morning, she wiped her tears, put on the white dress sewn by her mother, and went to the courthouse with a smile, as if absolutely happy.

The first years of marriage were difficult. John was attentive but cold. He kept distant, as if serving a sentence. Helen tried to be the ideal wife: cooked his favorite dish, ironed shirts with special care, sewed on buttons. In bed, she was tender and passionate, though it seemed to her that John was just fulfilling marital duty. Everything changed when Michael was born. John blossomed, became a caring father, and gradually an attentive husband. He worked a lot to provide for the family. And when Emily appeared four years later, their life filled with new meaning. Something like true happiness settled in the home.

The years went by. The children grew, delighting with successes. John advanced in his career at the factory in Newark, from simple engineer to shop foreman. Helen combined work at school with raising children, creating coziness in their small but dear apartment. Patricia occasionally wrote letters, sent holiday cards. They had no warm words, only dry reports: where she worked, how she settled. Only rarely did she ask how her nieces and nephews were doing.

Once, when the children were already teenagers, Patricia unexpectedly came to visit. It was a torturous week for Helen. She noticed how John and Patricia looked at each other—greedy, hungry gazes full of longing and regret. Outwardly, everything was proper: Patricia played the caring aunt, John the hospitable host. But Helen felt an invisible thread between them that neither time nor distance could break.

After that visit, Patricia didn’t come for a very long time. They communicated only by phone, exchanging news dryly and formally. Many years later, Patricia moved to Miami; she was offered a job at a resort with housing. There she settled, occasionally sending postcards with views of the Atlantic Ocean.

Helen never reproached her husband for the past. She didn’t make scenes of jealousy, didn’t taunt with betrayal. Though sometimes, when he stared thoughtfully into the distance, she understood he was thinking of Patricia. It hurt deeply, but she learned to live with this pain, like an old scar that aches before bad weather. The lived years didn’t erase the bitterness but taught her to value what she had: children, grandchildren, the home they built with John. Maybe she was never the one for him that every girl dreams of. But she was there, in sorrow and joy, in sickness and health. And that, Helen thought, looking at the falling autumn leaves, was no small thing.

The day of the golden wedding turned out surprisingly sunny, as if October decided to gift the celebrants. At the Riverside Restaurant, by four o’clock, the closest gathered—about thirty people. Former colleagues of John’s from the factory, teachers with whom Helen worked side by side for decades, neighbors from the building with whom a whole life was lived. And, of course, children and grandchildren—the center of their little universe.

The restaurant was decorated autumnally cozy: bunches of berries, golden maple leaves, white chrysanthemums. The table groaned with treats: vegetable soup, dumplings, stuffed peppers, fruit punch—all as befits such a grand anniversary. Helen in her cream-colored dress looked not just good—she shone with an inner beauty that comes only with years. Light makeup accentuated the clarity of her blue eyes, a neat hairstyle with pinned pearl hairpins added solemnity. John, in his new dark blue suit, held himself straight, as if again the young shop foreman she remembered in his best years.

Guests were generous with compliments: what a beautiful couple, how well preserved, what wonderful children and grandchildren. The emcee, a young man with a velvety voice and lively eyes, skillfully led the program. Helen, sitting at the head of the table next to her husband, looked at the guests and thought about time’s fleetingness. It seems just yesterday they celebrated their silver wedding when the children were still teenagers. And today golden, and the twin granddaughters almost as grown as Emily and Michael were then.

The celebration proceeded: toasts sounded, guests participated in contests, performers from the local philharmonic took the small stage. Emily had outdone herself, thinking through every detail. Michael, sparing no expense, paid for the best musicians in New York—a string quartet filled the hall with melodies from Helen and John’s youth.

And suddenly, in the midst of the festivities, the door opened, and Patricia entered the restaurant. Despite her seventy years, she remained a striking woman. A bright turquoise dress accentuated the tan acquired under the Florida sun, skillfully applied makeup hid wrinkles, large silver jewelry drew attention. «Sorry for being late, the flight was delayed,» she said from the threshold, surveying the hall. Greeting everyone with a general nod, Patricia headed straight to the celebrants.

Helen felt her husband tense beside her. His shoulders stiffened, his face took on that closed expression that appeared in moments of strong emotional turmoil. «My dear newlyweds, congratulations on this impressive milestone,» Patricia said, kissing first her sister, then John on the cheek. Patricia smelled of expensive perfume with vetiver notes—such not available in New York. «Always loved to stand out,» flashed in Helen’s mind.

The evening continued. Patricia sat at the table, chatted with nieces and nephews, admired the grown twin granddaughters. Noise, music, laughter merged into a single hum that pushed away anxious thoughts. It was time for the traditional dance of the celebrants. Mendelssohn’s waltz played, the very one under which they once danced at their own wedding in a tiny community hall. Helen and John went to the center of the hall and swirled in a slow dance…