On their 25th anniversary, Cohen Snyder presented a ring to his wife, Lea Wagner. "All these years together, does it really matter if we have a marriage certificate?" he remarked nonchalantly. Lea glanced at her hand, missing half a ring finger, and suggested they split up. Without hesitation, Cohen invited his mistress to move in. That same evening, their son, Madden Snyder, posted a family photo on Instagram with the caption, "Full moon and family gathering on Thanksgiving. One big happy family." Despite being part of this family for 25 years, Lea realized she had always been an outsider. As she prepared to leave for a volunteer mission in Africa, Cohen was filled with regret.

Under the dim light, a dazzling diamond ring lay in a red velvet box, its cold glint stark and uninviting. Cohen handed the box to Lea, his voice impatient. "Put it on. My assistant, I mean, Eva, checked out several stores to find this."

Lea looked at him blankly and shook her head. "It doesn't fit."

Cohen paused, chuckling awkwardly. "Oh, right… I forgot."

Indeed, he had forgotten. Thirty years ago, during a car accident, Lea had used her own body to shield Cohen, leaving him unscathed. In doing so, she lost her ring finger, and with it, her dream of becoming a surgeon. When Cohen woke up, he clung to her, tears streaming down his face, repeatedly muttering, "I'm sorry." He vowed to take care of her forever, promising eternal devotion. But those youthful promises had faded with time.

She tossed the ring box back at him, her voice icy. "This ring would suit Eva better."

Cohen's face darkened. "Lea, don't be unreasonable! I just forgot. Besides, does it have to be the ring finger?"

"Can't it go on another finger?" he demanded. "Or are you still mad about us not getting the marriage certificate?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" Lea met his gaze steadily. "Cohen, today is our anniversary, and this is how you treat me?"

"Anniversary? We've been together so long. What's the point of celebrating anniversaries anymore? With or without that certificate, it’s all the same, isn't it?" Cohen waved dismissively, a hint of irritation in his voice. "Fine, fine, I can't win with you. Be angry if you want."

"I'm not coming home for dinner tomorrow. If you bring me lunch, make sure to include some pulled pork."

Lea looked at him, surprised. "I won't."

"Why not?" Cohen furrowed his brows. "Eva… I mean, I've just developed a taste for pulled pork recently."

A cold smile played on Lea's lips as the truth hit her. Cohen, who never cared much for fancy foods, suddenly became picky when Eva returned as his assistant, ordering food that clearly wasn't for him.

"You’re allergic to pork, remember? Or are you conveniently forgetting now?" she asked, feigning amusement.

Cohen's expression faltered. "I'm allergic? That's news to me! Just make it."

Lea didn't respond, merely offering a cool smile.

Seeing her relent, Cohen's tone softened, tinged with appeasement. "You're the best, darling. Your cooking is top-notch. I've only ever enjoyed your meals all these years."

"In that case, eat as much as you like," she replied meaningfully.

In the evening, the dinner table was covered with a variety of pasta dishes, each more appealing than the last. Cohen Snyder looked at the spread, his expression turning sour. "Why is everything pasta?"

His son, Madden, echoed his frustration, "Mom, what's going on? Dad and I can't eat certain types of pasta because we're allergic. Why did you make this?"

Lea Wagner leisurely speared a large piece of ravioli with her fork, her tone casual as she replied, "Your dad said he's been in the mood for pasta lately." She placed the ravioli into Cohen's bowl with a smile. "Enjoy."

Cohen stared at the ravioli, his face growing paler, yet feeling pressured to eat. As he reluctantly lifted the ravioli to his mouth, a strong wave of nausea swept over him. He quickly covered his mouth and bolted for the bathroom.

Unbothered, Lea picked up a slice of spiced honey cake, savoring it gracefully, indifferent to her husband’s discomfort. Cohen not only was allergic to some pasta, but he also detested it. Lea, a pasta lover, had abstained for years out of consideration for him.

"Mom, could you make us something else? I'm really hungry," Madden complained, setting down his fork in frustration. "You always make strange things without thinking about whether Dad and I can even eat it!"

"Why can't you be more like Aunt Eva and put in some effort? You’re so useless at everything you do," he grumbled.

Lea set down her fork, casting a sidelong glance at her son. "You like her?"

"Obviously, who'd like you?" Madden retorted, rolling his eyes. "She's pretty and nice, unlike you, always looking disheveled and incapable, just relying on Dad."

A chill ran through Lea's heart. All those years she had devoted to caring for them, and this was what she got in return.

"Madden, watch how you speak to your mother. Apologize now," Cohen's voice was soft, lacking any real reprimand. "He's just a kid, doesn't understand, don’t take it to heart," he added.

Lea watched the father and son duo, her eyes cold, waiting for their little performance to end. Madden pursed his lips, mumbling a reluctant, "Sorry."

"Don't blame Mom," Cohen's voice was gentle, trying to smooth things over.

"I wish Aunt Eva could be my mom," Madden whispered under his breath.

Lea looked at him with a faint smirk. "Well, she already kind of is your mom."

"Lea! What are you talking about?" Cohen's face turned livid. "Don't make accusations against Eva!"

Lea looked at him, suddenly finding the situation amusing. "Accusations?"

She pulled a marriage certificate from between the couch cushions that she’d found earlier that morning, spreading it on the table for him to see. "See for yourself if this counts as an accusation."

Cohen stared at it, his face going pale. There, on the certificate, was a picture of him and Eva Martin, dated ten years ago, the same year he and Lea had renewed their vows.

Lea's laughter was hollow. "Cohen Snyder, you’re something else. Whispering sweet nothings to me while marrying my bridesmaid. Aren’t you afraid of karma?"

She recalled their vow renewal a decade ago when Eva had stood as her bridesmaid. Dressed in an elegant Victorian-style gown, her makeup meticulously done, Eva had been as stunning as a rose. After the ceremony, a friend had subtly mentioned that Eva's gaze at Cohen was far too intimate. Lea had laughed it off, insisting there couldn’t be anything between them since Eva was just Cohen’s former assistant. Looking back now, it seemed like a bitter joke on her.

She, the fool, had been deceived for so many years.