I know you didn’t deserve it.

“I know I don’t deserve it,” he told me from the other side of the table in the garage.
The morning sun had finally reached up my toes after I’d spent the last 20 minutes watching it crawl up his driveway. I smiled.
This was quite possibly the only thing we’d ever agreed on but for the sake of our day off together, I had to argue him anyway.
“Don’t say that.” I faked an empathetic look, but he was right. He didn’t deserve it. “You threw me the best 30th birthday party, so I want to give you a good 40th.”

A month after his birthday, I was walking up his driveway. I hadn’t seen him in a few days.
“You’re taking everything, right?” He asked from the very same side of the table in the garage.
I nodded my head as I walked past him.
“Good cause I have somewhere to be after this.” He tossed a can in the trash.
I know I don’t deserve it.

“In three years, my 40th birthday was the only time she ever made me feel loved.” He slurred.
It was barely 9:00am. The Door Dash driver handed him the 30-rack of Coors Light he’d ordered for delivery.

I laughed.

“In three years, my 40th birthday week was the only time she ever made me feel loved.”
“I know I don’t deserve it.“