Love Is Blind

The incandescent glow of the Manhattan skyline, once a beacon of boundless opportunity, now merely illuminated the suffocating opulence of his life. Seven years. Seven years since he’d stood beside Sandra, her hand clasped tightly in his, reciting vows that felt as ancient and sacred as the vows of kings. Those words, then imbued with the fervent sincerity of a man deeply in love, now echoed in the hollow chambers of his memory like a cruel mockery. He remembered the weight of his own promise, the unwavering belief that together, they could conquer anything. They had envisioned a future painted with the vibrant hues of shared ambition, a life built on mutual respect and unwavering devotion. Now, that vision had warped, the colors leaching away until only a muted, oppressive gray remained.

Sandra. The name itself was a coiled spring of anxiety within him. In those early days, her ambition had mirrored his own, a shared drive that propelled them forward. He had adored her sharp intellect, her fierce determination, the way she could articulate dreams with such compelling clarity. He had seen a partner, an equal, a confidante. But somewhere along the winding path of their marriage, a subtle, almost imperceptible shift had occurred. It began with small things, easily dismissed, easily rationalized. A sharp word here, a dismissive gesture there. He had attributed it to stress, to the demands of their careers, to the natural friction of two strong personalities navigating life together. He had been a master of rationalization, a craftsman of self-deception, weaving intricate tapestries of excuses to shield himself from the uncomfortable truth.