My boyfriend, Karson Johnson, works as a designer for a high-end lingerie brand. One day, I spotted a sketch on his desk—a design for lingerie with a Thanksgiving theme. Excitedly, I assumed it was a special Thanksgiving gift for me. But on Thanksgiving Day, his muse posted photos of the actual lingerie set on Instagram, thanking him in the caption: "Thanks, darling, for the Thanksgiving gift. I hope we can spend every Thanksgiving together."

I quietly liked the post. Later that day, I scheduled an appointment for an abortion. I decided to take a few days off to recover, then move forward with my visa and passport applications, considering the company's offer to handle international operations.

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Leaving the hospital after the procedure, I was struck by the coldness that the bright morning sun couldn't dispel; a chill that seemed to freeze my very soul. Only when I checked my phone did I notice Karson had called me multiple times. Looking at the list of missed calls, I hesitated briefly before calling him back.

"Hello," I managed to say, my throat dry and my voice hoarse. There was a pause on the other end before his angry shouting hit me like a tidal wave.

"Audrey, where have you been?! Why haven't you answered any of my calls?!"

I stayed silent, staring into space, my face pale as I held my lips tightly sealed. His impatience erupted again through the phone, "I'm coming home later. We're going to a birthday party."

I whispered a faint "okay," and he abruptly ended the call, having run out of patience.

With a heavy sigh, I slipped off my wedding ring and let it fall into the storm drain on the street. Karson Johnson, promises rust over time, and now it’s time to go our separate ways.

After mustering the strength to hold myself together and make my way back home, I splashed some cold water on my face in the bathroom. Only then did the fog in my mind begin to clear, though slowly.

Gazing at my reflection—my pale skin and the silent tears revealing my sorrow—I couldn't help but find the sight utterly pitiful.

The sharp pain in my stomach was unrelenting. I thought of making myself a cup of coffee with some sugar before heading to bed, but as I passed the dining room, I noticed the spiced honey cake I had left on the table.

With a bitter smile, I looked at the forgotten cake. Karson had only remembered today as the birthday of his beloved, Lia Kennedy, while he forgot it was mine as well.

Years ago, after Lia decided to move abroad, a drunken Karson showed up at my door. He knelt on one knee with nothing more than a soda can tab and said, "Audrey, marry me."

Looking at the face I had adored for so long, I knew deep down he didn’t love me, but I was swept away by the illusion of lasting happiness. Against my better judgment, I accepted his proposal.

Eventually, we got married and built a life together. The soda can tab he used to propose was swapped for a big diamond ring.

From being an unknown, underrated designer, he climbed the ladder to become a sought-after designer for an international luxury lingerie brand.

Everything seemed perfect, yet happiness proved as fragile as a bubble, ready to pop at the slightest disturbance.

If Lia hadn’t returned from abroad, if I hadn’t stumbled upon Karson’s design drafts and Lia’s social media post on Thanksgiving, maybe I would’ve kept lying to myself. I wouldn’t have ended the pregnancy, nor would I have turned down the promotion abroad.

But reality doesn’t entertain "what ifs." I swept the cake off the table and into the trash, feeling nothing but icy indifference and seething resentment.