After I hung up, I calmly shut down the computer.

“It’s nothing. I was just talking to Mr. Cole about the divorce.”

Yvette’s expression immediately changed. She rushed over to me.

“What divorce? You want to divorce me?”

I stepped back and said casually, “No. It’s about one of his cases. He wanted my opinion.”

Only then did Yvette relax. She handed me the paper bag she was holding.

“This is for you.”

The logo on the bag was from my favorite cake shop.

Before we got married, whenever Yvette made me angry, she would buy me a cake from there.

The shop was always busy, and the wait usually took two hours.

Still, whenever I said I wanted some, she would go and line up in person, rain or shine, just to make me happy.

Sometimes, I felt bad for her and told her to get it delivered instead.

Yvette would smile and say, “Yoel, it’s fine. I’m willing to do it for you.”

The memory warmed my heart. I smiled without thinking, took the bag, and opened it.

“I didn’t expect you to remember… What’s this?”

I looked at her in shock. A sense of unease crept in.

There was no cake in the bag. Instead, there were two pieces of clothing that smelled of alcohol.

They were Connor's.

Yvette looked embarrassed when I questioned her.

“Connor got his clothes dirty, didn’t he? You’re used to doing the laundry anyway. Two more pieces don't make a difference, so I brought them here.”

Then, she seemed to think of something and regained her composure.

“At worst, I’ll just use another make-up card. There are still plenty left. That way, you won’t be so petty about it.”

Everything I wanted to say was stuck in my throat.

I wanted to tell her there were not many left.

If she wanted to use another make-up card, only one would be left.

The words were at the tip of my tongue, but I looked at her and could not say anything. Then, I put the clothes into the washing machine.

In the past, to keep her clothes spotless, I had never used the washing machine. I washed everything by hand.

Looking back, I was truly foolish.

What I thought was consideration and love had turned me into free help in her eyes.

I smiled bitterly, closed the door, and returned to the bedroom.

When she saw how quickly I returned, Yvette froze for a moment.

“That fast? Are they clean already? That shirt is Connor’s favorite. I promised him you would wash it properly.”

I nodded and went to wash up.

Suddenly, a familiar ringtone sounded outside.

Yvette looked at me carefully. Then, she took her phone and went out onto the balcony.

I followed quietly and heard Connor speaking from the other end.

“Ms. Lawson, the cake you bought me was so good. I’ve never had anything that tasted this good!

“But I know it took a long time to wait in line. I felt bad for you.”

Yvette glanced toward the bedroom and said indulgently, “It’s fine. If you want it, I can buy it for you anytime.

“I’m willing to do it for you.”

Connor laughed and pretended to be awkward. “What about my shirt? Is it really okay to let Mr. Quinn wash it?

“I don’t want to make things awkward for you.”

Yvette chuckled.

“What’s there to feel awkward about? He’s used to it. You’re the one I worry about. Your hands are so nice. I would feel bad if you had to do rough work.”

I froze and instinctively looked at my hands.

Years of doing chores had made my hands rough, but she did not care for them.

I did not want to hear anything else and hurried into the bathroom.

Ten minutes later, Yvette knocked on the door.

“Yoel, something came up at work. I have to go. Go to bed, okay?”

I said, “Okay.”

Just as she was about to leave, I asked, “Yvette, if you don’t come back, can I use a make-up card?”

I looked at her. A faint shimmer of tears still lingered in the corner of my eyes.

She froze for a moment, then turned back to me.

“Okay.”

Yvette smiled. She was back to her calm and relaxed self.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be home before midnight. You won’t need to use a make-up card.”

Seeing her face, not much different from five years ago, I pushed down the ache in my chest and smiled softly.

“Alright. I’ll wait for you.”

Three hours remained until midnight.

I paid extra to hire a runner to go buy a cake for me.

Yvette’s assistant, Zara Carter, posted an update on social media.

She complained that she was still working late and that she was the only one left in the office.

Yvette sent me a text.

[Just got to the office. I’ll be home soon.]

Two hours remained until midnight.

While looking through my photo album, I found a picture of Yvette proposing to me.

A wave of emotion passed through me, and I wrote a post.

[Without realizing it, it has already been five years.]

Yvette’s reply came quickly.

[It won’t be just five years.]

She also sent a photo of the night view.

[The night looks beautiful tonight. It reminded me of you.]

I did not reply.

I knew the buildings in the background were not near the office. They were downtown, where the city’s most romantic couple’s restaurant was located.

Connor could not stay calm. He shared a post visible only to me.

[You say you married your first love, but I’m your true love.]

In the lower left corner of the photo, Yvette’s left hand was clearly visible. She was not wearing her wedding ring.

One hour remained until midnight.

I curled up on the couch. I played the wedding video on repeat and ate the cake the runner had delivered.

For some reason, the more I ate, the saltier it tasted, probably from my own tears.

I decided I would never be able to like this cake again.

Thirty minutes remained until midnight.

Yvette stopped replying to my texts. I did not disturb her either.

I turned and began packing my things.

One minute remained until midnight.

I took the last make-up card from the jar, ready to tear it up.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the front door.

I paused and hurried to open it.

“Hello, this is a gift from Ms. Lawson. Please sign here.”

The delivery person held out a watch box. He waited politely.

At the same time, I got a text from Yvette.

[Sorry, I have to stay at the office tonight. Use the make-up card if you want. I’ll bring your favorite cake when I get home.]

I was about to reply when I accidentally bumped the bookshelf.

The wedding photos from the past five years fell to the floor. Glass shattered everywhere.

The delivery person jumped. He quickly asked, “Sir, do you want me to help clean that up?”

I shook my head and typed a reply.

[No need for the cake, Yvette. All the make-up cards are used up.

[Let’s get a divorce.]

The next second, hundreds of messages flooded my phone.