"Matilda, are you ready yet?"

Every year on my birthday, Grady was always running late. Yet for Catherine's birthday, he managed to be at the restaurant an hour and a half early. As I read the message he sent, a wave of sadness swept over me.

"I'm at the hospital, so I can't make it to her party."

But Grady wasn’t going to let me off that easily.

"An allergy is hardly a reason to be in the hospital. Do you really need to blow this out of proportion?"

"Everyone from my company will be there. As the boss's wife, you can't just skip it. I'm coming to get you now."

In what felt like no time at all, he drove from the restaurant to the hospital. Within ten minutes, he was standing in the doorway of my room. Seeing me in the hospital bed didn't stir a hint of concern in him—just pure disdain.

"You look like a bloated mess, kind of like a pulled pork sandwich," he scoffed, holding up a fancy dress that had a Victorian flair, clearly expecting me to wear it.

My mouth, barely able to move because of the swelling, struggled to resist.

"Grady, I really don't want to go. Please don't make me."

He stood there silently for a moment before finally speaking.

"Looking like this, you'd only embarrass me if you showed up. Maybe it's better if you just—"

He was about to relent when a ringtone interrupted him.

"Grady, have you picked up Matilda yet?"

He looked torn but under Catherine's sweet persuasion, he gave in to her request.

"Did you hear that? Catherine just wants to celebrate with you. Don't mess it up for me."

The mirror in the hospital room was small, but enough to see my swollen face and the red welts covering my body. I slowly walked out of the restroom, where Grady stood waiting impatiently by the door.

"Come on, let's go."

He didn’t even give me a second glance.

I followed him, each step sending a dull pain through my abdomen. Inside, I made a silent decision.

I'll go with him one last time, as a farewell. After tonight, I'm leaving Grady for good.

I pushed open the door to the private dining room, and all eyes turned toward us. Someone let out a derisive snort.

"Who's that with the boss? Looks like a real mess."

Once everyone took a closer look, they realized something was off. A female colleague nudged the man who had spoken.

"Hey, isn't that woman behind him the boss's wife?"

The man immediately looked anxious.

A young woman seated at the head of the table stood up with a confident smile, eager to smooth things over for the man who'd spoken without thinking.

"Matilda is a generous person; she definitely won't hold it against you."

She gave me a once-over, as though I were a piece of merchandise.

The next moment, she couldn't hold back a laugh.

"Sis, I had no idea that dress would be such a bad fit on you. I should've picked a bigger size."

"You aren't going to hold that against me, are you?"

Grady patted her on the shoulder.

"She's just swollen from an allergy; it's not your fault."

Taking a closer look, I noticed Catherine was wearing the same dress as I was. However, mine was in a drab, outdated shade, while hers was bright and lively, making her look young and vibrant.

Catherine was clearly trying to make a point: she was young and beautiful, while I, despite the years spent by Grady's side, had lost the glow of youth.

Everyone began to take their seats, and Grady carefully rinsed a set of cutlery for her with hot water, acting as if I wasn't even there.

As the banquet began, a group of people came in, pushing a three-tier spiced honey cake, singing the birthday song as they entered.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you..."

The birthday crown was placed on Catherine's head, her face lit up with happiness.

They all showered Catherine with birthday wishes, completely unaware that today was my birthday too. Even my husband, Grady, had completely forgotten.

The cake was cut into slices, and each person was served a delicately crafted piece specially ordered by Grady for Catherine.

Except me.

Catherine noticed my empty spot and tried to hand me her piece, but Grady stopped her.

"She doesn't like cake, no need to give her one."

I had indeed told him before that I wasn't fond of honey cake.

After all these years, I'd told him countless white lies, but this was the only one he seemed to remember.

That birthday, after paying rent, our account balance was practically drained. During the damp and gloomy rainy season, we were stuck in a basement with no sunlight, living like cockroaches. Grady felt embarrassed; back then, we scrimped and saved every penny. On my birthday, he couldn't even afford to buy a discounted spiced honey cake. I fibbed and said I didn't like sweets, especially cakes, with their sickly sweetness that I pretended to detest. But honestly, what girl doesn't enjoy a slice of cake now and then?

He made a bowl of homemade vegetable ravioli soup for me and slipped the only poached egg into my bowl. It was the best vegetable ravioli soup I've ever tasted. Later, he bought me a big house and a luxury car, but none of that matched the warmth of that bowl of soup in my mind. It's not that his actions changed so dramatically over time, but rather because I had once felt the depth of his love. I realized clearly that he no longer loved me the same way.

"Besides your birthday, there’s something else I need to discuss today," he said, gesturing with a look for me to stand. "This morning, Catherine posted something on WhatsApp, and you, as the boss's wife, made a comment that upset her." Seeing that I hadn’t stood up, he assumed I hadn’t caught his hint.

"Matilda, stand up quickly. Let’s offer a toast to Catherine as an apology." He came over, pulled me up from my seat, filled the wine glass in front of me, and put it in my hand. He led by example and finished his drink, only to turn around and find I hadn't even started.

"Grady, I can't drink this wine." Catherine quickly interjected, not wanting him to pressure me. "If she doesn’t want to drink, let it be. Don’t let me come between you two."

Grady grew even angrier at her words. "If you were even half as considerate as Catherine, you'd just drink when I ask."

He had never yelled at me like this before.

I gently set down the wine glass, took a report from my bag, and handed it to him. "Grady, I had a miscarriage; I can’t drink. Why are you insisting?"

Grady picked up that thin sheet of paper; every word shouted at him about the child he could have had. His grip on the paper tightened, and his eyes began to redden. "Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant earlier?" His face was full of disbelief as he shook my shoulders, shouting, "How could you not tell me?"

A stabbing pain cut through my heart, but it was this pain that brought clarity. In front of everyone, I walked out of that private room.