When she pried open the top of the box and looked inside, her eyebrows drew together in confusion. She reached in and pulled out several brand-new notebooks, opening the cover flaps to see that that was just what they were. Blank notebooks. She set them on the table next to the wrapping paper and ribbon, and reached back into the box to pull out a ream of paper. Also blank. She peered into the box and then took out one book, then another book, then another. As she read each title, she realized these were books she would need for her freshman-year courses of high school.

She’d saved the card for last, but tears were already stinging and blurring her eyes as she slid a Plum Beautiful fingernail under the flap to open it. She was afraid she wouldn’t be able to read it. She was embarrassed to be crying, and wished Edward wasn’t watching her. He’d stopped tapping his foot and handed her his handkerchief, and she poked the fabric into the corners of her eyes to soak up the tears before they could spill out onto her cheeks and muss up her makeup. The card, unlike the wrapping, was not professionally done. It was just a piece of paper that Edward had folded into quarters and written on himself. A homemade card like the ones Charlotte used to make when she was in elementary school.

The outside read:

“Happy Anniversary to my Favorite Wife”

Vivian almost crushed the paper in her palm and threw it at him. She refused to look at him, even when she heard him snickering next to her. The nerve that man had. She pursed her lips and flared her nostrils, afraid that if she looked at him she’d start to laugh, and she wasn’t sure he deserved that just yet. She gave a sniff and a quick shake of her head, and then opened to the inside of the card. The words, “To New Beginnings,” were written in large letters and then the number “1,” and in parentheses the word “Paper.”

She looked down at the stack of notebooks, the paper, and the books. It was all paper, for garsh sakes. Paper, for the first anniversary. And then she turned and looked at Edward, whose forehead was wrinkled and his wild, graying eyebrows tented together. If Vivian hadn’t known any better, she’d have said he looked nervous. Honest-to-goodness nervous, leaning forward, rubbing his palms on the knees of his trousers and watching her, his fingers all scratched up with paper cuts. There were no roses in the crystal vase. No “sorry blooms” for this anniversary. This was not a gift given out of guilt. It was love, and it looked like Vivian and Edward Dalton were going to be starting over.

“Vivy”—Edward gave her a gentle nudge—“why did the guy keep hitting himself on the head with a hammer?”

She took a deep breath and arched an eyebrow, but didn’t look at him.