For Five Years, My Husband Loved Me Like a Replacement Chapter 01
In five years of marriage, Julian Sterling had never once forgotten either my birthday or my sister’s.
Same day, same florist, two identical bouquets of white roses.
I used to think that was his way of being thoughtful. Until this year, when the florist made a mistake.
I received a bouquet of pink ranunculus with a handwritten card that said:
“Maren — hope this year is your best yet.”
Maren was my sister’s name.
I called the florist to confirm. The clerk said, “Mr. Sterling orders two bouquets every year. The pink one gets a note to wrap with extra care. The white one just says the usual.”
I pulled out every gift he’d given me over the past five years. Lipsticks one shade off. Scarves made of cheaper material. Bags from his business trips that were always one series below the premium line.
They looked identical at first glance.
But the expensive one was never mine.
That night, he came home. I set both bouquets side by side on the dining table.
“Julian, which one is mine?”
He blinked, then smiled, picking up the white roses and handing them to me.
“This one, obviously. You’ve always liked white, haven’t you?”
I stared at the delicate handwriting on that card.
Five years.
He had never once written me a card by hand.
But this time, I didn’t want the usual anymore.
……
Julian held the white roses out to me. The petals brushed against my fingertips — cold.
I didn’t catch them properly.
The bouquet hit the edge of the table, wrapping paper scraping with a soft rustle.
Julian glanced down, brow creasing. “What’s wrong?”
I slid the card from the pink ranunculus across the table toward him.
“Did you write this one too?”
His eyes landed on it. A half-second pause. Then he reached for it.
“The florist made a mistake. Don’t overthink it.”
I pressed my finger down on the card’s corner.
“I asked you a question. Did you write it or not?”
Julian looked up at me, his tone cooling. “Vivian, it’s your birthday. Do you really want to make a big deal out of something so trivial?”
Trivial.
Every identical gift I’d received over five years of marriage — all of it was trivial to him.
I held his gaze. “Then where’s my card?”
Julian went quiet.
From the kitchen, the soup simmered, bubbling softly. I’d spent three hours on it that afternoon. Chicken broth, skimmed clean of fat, because he liked it light.
He finally said, “You’re not a teenager anymore. Do you really care about that stuff?”
I smiled. “And Maren is?”
Julian’s expression shifted.
He draped his suit jacket over the back of his chair, voice dropping lower. “Don’t drag Maren into this. She was at the lab all day, didn’t even have time to eat.”
He picked up his phone, glancing at the screen.
A second later, it buzzed.
The screen lit up.
Maren had sent a voice message.
Julian didn’t step away. He tapped it open.
My sister’s soft voice drifted through the speaker. “Julian, I got the flowers. They’re beautiful. I’ve just been so busy today I didn’t get a chance to send you a picture.”
His eyes softened instantly.
“Glad you liked them.”
He replied fast.
I stood by the table, my finger still pressed against that card.
“Hope this year is your best yet.”
He had written every word of that for her — by hand.
My white roses didn’t even get a note beyond the usual.
Another message came in from Maren. “Vivian didn’t get the wrong idea, did she? You know how she overthinks things.”
Julian glanced at me, then typed back. “It’s fine. I’ll handle it.”
He set his phone down as if he’d just finished dealing with another routine matter.
“Alright. Come eat.”
I didn’t move.
“Julian, do you even remember what flowers I like?”
He frowned. “White roses.”
I nodded. “Who told you that?”
He looked almost annoyed. “You get them every year. You never said you didn’t like them.”
I thought back to the first birthday. He’d sent his assistant to deliver white roses. I’d smiled and said they were beautiful, afraid of seeming hard to please.
After that, it was white roses every single year.
Turns out, all you have to do is be easy once, and people assume you’ll stay easy forever.
Julian stepped over and reached out to pat my head.
“Stop it. I’ll have the florist send a new bouquet tomorrow.”
I turned my head away.
His hand stopped midair.
“Don’t bother,” I said quietly.
Irritation flickered in his eyes. “Vivian. Enough.”
The doorbell rang.
Julian answered it.
Maren stood on the doorstep in a cream trench coat, holding the pink ranunculus.
She glanced at the white roses on the table and smiled.
“Vivian, I came to swap the flowers.”
She held out the pink bouquet, voice light.
“Julian said you might be upset. You can have these.”
Julian stood behind her without saying a word in objection.
I looked at the flowers, then at him.
He muttered, “Maren came all this way. Don’t embarrass her.”
Slowly, I loosened my grip.
The handwritten card slipped off the table’s edge and fluttered to the floor.
Maren bent to pick it up.
I stepped on it first.
Julian’s brow tightened. “Vivian, is this really necessary?”
I bent down, picked up the card, tore it in half, and dropped it into the trash — along with the white roses.
Maren left with tears in her eyes.
Julian didn’t speak to me for the rest of the night.