The unexpected

CARLA

O N E Y E A R A G O:

Valentine's Day - February 14th 2019
Birmingham

I set the round glass table with two plates, two wine glasses, two napkins, and two candles.

I pulled out the chilled white wine - Max' favourite - and placed it gently in the middle of the table.

The food smelt delicious, I was cooking lasagne. The melt in the mouth Italian dish that Max couldn't get enough of, and also the dish he prepared for me on our first date. Each year one of us would cook, and this year was my turn. It was also exactly one year today we got married. Bit of a cliché I suppose getting married on Valentine's Day, but being the mad, crazy couple we are, we eloped in Las Vegas. A spare of the moment decision, which led to us booking a flight and hotel the day before.

It wasn't my dream wedding. I always wanted an elegant, extravagant, traditional wedding with the glamorous white dress, the endless bridesmaids, a huge castle, and all my family sat watching as I strode down the aisle. But love was more important, and when you love someone it doesn't matter where you get married. Or how many people are there, or what you get married in. All that matters is the two people exchanging vows.

So yeah, today marks the one year anniversary of mine and Max' last minute wedding, which turned out perfect as we've been happy ever since.

That meant that today was more than just about celebrating our love for each other because it was valentines, we were to celebrate our love, marriage, and future too.

Max finished work around five, it was six thirty now, but sometimes it took a while for him to get home from work. He was an architect, I never fully understand his job properly. One day I asked: 'so, you're a builder?'. His face dropped, and I'm sure if I wasn't the love of his life, he would of killed me there and then. Ever since he's been trying to explain his career to me, and I think I get it a lot more now, for example I understand that he is definitely not a builder. But I couldn't explain it to you without having to ask him.

He wasn't usually this late home, but at the time I never thought anything of it. I was too excited to see his face when he walked through the door of our tiny two bedroom apartment, and smelt the aroma of my cooking. As mentioned before, lasagne was his favourite; he knew the smell from a mile away.

I sat impatiently on the brown leather sofa in our lounge, it was directly opposite the kitchen diner - as it was all open plan. I couldn't stop fidgeting as I glanced over at the clock. I watched it tick by until - what felt like hours - had been ten minutes. He was still wasn't home.

My panicked instinct was to call him. Maybe he had been held up at the company he worked for, but my nerves were getting the better of me telling me it was something else. I tried to tell myself to stop panicking, everything was okay. But I never panicked. If my gut told me something, then it was usually right.

I strode over to the kitchen counter, where my phone lay, and unlocked it in hope to see a missed call or text. I was left further disappointed, and worried, when I saw nothing appeared on the screen.

Clicking his contact to call him, my hands shook with anxiety. I listened to the annoying beeps as it tried to connect the call, then the voicemail.

'Hey I can't come to the phone right now! Leave a message if it's urgent, or don't it's your choice! I probs won't listen to it though!'