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.