I DIDN’T LOVE you all 50 YEARS. Because you… – the man declared at the wedding anniversary. Guests FROZE from the wife’s response…
«I haven’t loved you all these 50 years,» John suddenly said in her ear. Helen seemed to turn to stone but continued moving mechanically to the music. «What are you saying?» she whispered. «What’s with you? Sulking or something?» he asked casually. «I’ve been with you most of the time.» These words hit her like icy water in frost, taking her breath away.
«Is this normal for him?» raced through her head. «In all my life, I never fully knew what kind of person he is. I thought I knew everything about him, like the back of my hand. And here he is.» She silently looked at the husband to whom she had given half a century of life. Scenes of lived years flashed before her eyes: how she washed his shirts in icy water when the washing machine broke; how she sat up nights with the children so he could sleep before an important meeting; how she gave up her plans and desires just to make it convenient for him. «I spent the best years of my life on him,» she realized with frightening clarity.
They danced to the end of the melody. Guests applauded. Someone from John’s former colleagues shouted: «Kiss!» Others joined in, and soon the whole hall chanted the word, demanding the traditional kiss of the celebrants. Helen and John had to kiss. At that moment, something snapped in the woman’s soul. As if a string that had been tightening for long years finally broke. She understood she could no longer remain silent.
The emcee announced speeches from the celebrants. John took the microphone and delivered a standard speech: something about happy years, about good children raised in their family. He was laconic, as usual. Then Helen took the microphone. She began calmly, almost detached, with the story of their meeting, how she introduced John to Patricia, how she left to study and learned of their affair. Her voice was even, trembling only occasionally on particularly painful moments. «All this time I knew that John loved you, Patricia,» Helen said, looking straight at her sister.
The attendees exchanged astonished glances. Emily and Michael looked shocked—they had never heard this story. Their parents always seemed to them a model of restrained, calm love. «I won’t tell all the details now,» Helen continued, «but each of us three knows the truth. John, I’m grateful to you for these years, for our children, for your respect and care. You gave me the chance to realize myself as a mother, as a woman. But I always knew you love my sister.»
A deathly silence hung in the hall. You could hear a fly buzzing by the window. Patricia looked at the floor, nervously twisting a napkin. John looked as if punched in the gut: bewildered, with a pale face on which red spots appeared. «I’ve lived my life with a beloved man,» Helen continued, her voice strengthening. «And even if this love wasn’t fully reciprocated, I’m grateful to fate for all the good in our family.»
She spoke at length: about how important family is, how valuable children and grandchildren are, how hard it is to maintain relationships. She didn’t accuse, didn’t reproach, just stated facts, like a person who made her choice with open eyes and accepted its consequences. With each word, her shoulders straightened, as if the burden she carried all these years gradually released. It was not so much resentment spilled out as liberation—like admitting a long-hidden illness brings not condemnation but relief and the possibility of healing.
After her speech, an awkward pause hung in the hall. No one knew how to react. The emcee, professionally handling the confusion, turned on the music. Guests gradually got up, danced, but in their conversations and glances, the shock from what was heard was felt.
Helen went outside to breathe fresh air. Next to the restaurant was a small park with benches. She sat on one, looking at the falling leaves. The air was fresh, with a light scent of fallen foliage and approaching rain. Emily followed her out. The daughter sat beside, took her mother’s hand. Tears stood in her eyes. «Mom, is this really true? All this time Dad loved Aunt Patricia?» she asked in a trembling voice.
Helen nodded. «There was no point denying the obvious. But that doesn’t mean he didn’t love you and Michael or care for me. First love is just special.»
«And you?» pain for her mother sounded in Emily’s voice. «You loved him all this time, knowing he loves another?»
«I loved. I love. And I’ll love, even if he left me for Patricia tomorrow,» Helen answered simply. «That’s how I am, a one-love person.»
Emily hugged her mother. Her shoulders shook with restrained sobs. «I don’t know if I could do that. Live so many years with a person who loves another.»
«And you don’t have to, dear,» Helen stroked her daughter’s head, like in childhood when she came with scraped knees. «Everyone has their lot, some honey, some tar. I chose my fate myself and don’t regret it.»..
