It was supposed to be a perfect night—the celebration of one whole year of marriage with Thomas. Our first anniversary.
I’d spent two weeks planning every detail. From the tiny flicker of candles on the dining table to the hand-picked flowers arranged in a delicate vase, every element was meant to say, I love you in the language we both understood. I bought a dress that made me feel beautiful—elegant yet comfortable—and a gift that I knew Thomas had wanted for months, a rare edition of his favorite novel. I even cooked his favorite meal, taking great care to get every spice right, hoping that this night would mark the beginning of many more anniversaries.
As the evening sun dipped below the horizon, I lit the last candle on the table, the soft amber glow reflecting off the wine glasses. My heart fluttered with excitement. I was ready to make this a night to remember.
But then, my phone rang.
It was Thomas.
“Hey darling,” his voice was rushed, just a little breathless. “I’m so sorry, but I have to fly out for an emergency meeting. We’ll celebrate when I’m back, okay?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat. “Of course, honey. I understand.”
I forced a smile, but the ache inside me was sharp. He sounded so far away, like a man being pulled into something bigger than our life together.
I sat down on the couch, staring at the empty chair across from me, and tried to push away the disappointment.
Then came a knock at the door.
Startled, I got up and opened it to see a courier standing there with a box. My heart lifted—perhaps Thomas had arranged a surprise after all.
“Anna? Delivery for you,” the courier said, handing me the box.
I took it eagerly, feeling the weight of anticipation. Back inside, I set the box on the kitchen counter and carefully lifted the lid.
Inside was a cake.
A beautiful, elegant cake, but the message written in icing made my heart stop cold: “IT’S TIME TO GET DIVORCED.”
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