On our third wedding anniversary, I received a cake from my husband.

It had the names Clarisse Burke and Antonio Carey written on it, along with Happy Third Anniversary.

But I felt like I'd been plunged into ice. That wasn't my name. Clarisse was his secretary.

Sure enough, I saw my cake in Clarisse Burke's latest post, labeled Iva Grant and Antonio Carey.

[Three years, and someone's already treating me like his wife.]

Below, there was a comment. [Delete that post! The cakes got mixed up. Don't let Iva find out.]

That was when I realized he had planned every romantic surprise in pairs.

Holding my phone, I laughed at his pathetic attempt to cover it up.

But I was done. I started planning my exit.

Soon after I closed the app, Antonio Carey called.

He stammered, asking if I got the cake.

I didn't hold back. "I got it. But it's got Clarisse and your name written on it."

He paused, his voice tinged with panic. "The bakery screwed up. I was signing contracts, so I had Clarisse order the cake. They must've mixed up your names."

I couldn't help but laugh. Without that post, I might've bought his excuse.

When I refreshed the feed, Clarisse's post was gone, but it was too late to mend.

I spoke calmly. "Alright. If there's nothing else, I'm hanging up."

Sensing I wasn't pushing, Antonio relaxed and started sweet-talking. "Don't worry. I'll get you a new cake. No mistakes this time, okay?"

"No need. It's late, and I'm not feeling great. I'm gonna rest now," I said, hanging up without waiting for his response.

Then I started sorting through the tangled web of interests from our three years of marriage.

If I were leaving, he wouldn't get a dime.

I was so focused that I didn't notice Antonio come home two hours early, cake in hand.

Seeing me on the couch, he flashed a smile. "Honey, I know it's that time of the month. Are your cramps acting up? My bad for forgetting something so important."

We had been married for three years, and Antonio always remembered my cycle. He even learned massage, claiming he studied with an expert for me.

Now I doubted it was just for me. Even those remembered dates felt like a scam.

Before he came home, I had received an anonymous text.

[Antonio is so sweet, always taking care of me, giving me massages.]

Attached were photos, shot from odd angles. No faces were shown, but the massaging hand wore a familiar wedding ring.

Clarisse couldn't show them on social media, so she turned to texts.

"Iva, I'm talking to you. Can you at least respond?" Antonio said, sounding annoyed. "The bakery messed up the cake, and I've got you a new one. I'm back early for our third anniversary. What are you upset about?"

His irritation snapped me out of my thoughts. He was upset because I hung up on him and wasn't responding to his groveling.

He rarely came home so early. He claimed it was for our anniversary, but in the past two years, he always had late-night excuses.

Now it was clear that he'd been tangled up with Clarisse for a long time.

I looked at him calmly. "I'm not upset. Just thinking about work."

He eyed me skeptically. "Really?"

I nodded.

Technically, that wasn't a lie. Once I sorted out work, I'd divorce him.

Antonio seemed relieved. He quickly opened the new cake and set it in front of me.

His gaze fell on the other cake with Clarisse's name, and he faltered, "I'm complaining to that bakery tomorrow."

He was about to toss it when his phone rang, stealing his attention.

I glanced over. The caller ID read Clary.

As Clarisse's voice came through, my already shattered heart felt trampled. My eyes stung, but I refused to show weakness in front of him.

On his phone, I was just Iva Grant. There were no cute nicknames.

The call ended quickly.

Antonio frowned, looking at me with hesitation. "Sorry, there's an emergency at work. I..."

I nodded lightly, my nonchalance throwing him off.

He clenched his jaw, sighing. "Forget it. No work is more important than you. It's our third anniversary. I'm staying."

But within five minutes, his phone kept buzzing.

I counted until the seventh call.

He squirmed. "Honey, it's a big deal at work. I have to go."

He grabbed the cake with Clarisse's name, adding, "I'll toss this on the way."

I laughed bitterly as he hurried off.

At this point, he was still using work as a cover.

Tears streamed down my face, but my resolve to leave hardened.

Losing no time, I called my lawyer to draft a divorce agreement.

Late into the night, chilly wind came in through the open window.

Antonio finally remembered me, calling with his usual warm tone, playing the perfect husband.

"Work is done. I'm heading back. Want anything? I know you love shrimp tacos. I'll grab some."

If I hadn't seen those photos, I might've been touched.

He always remembered what I liked. But now, it didn't stir anything in me.

"No thanks. I'm over them."

"No way. You said you wanted them the night before. It's fine. I've already got them ordered. Be home soon."

He hung up before I could refuse.

I stared at a new text. My heart stayed calm.

The man wearing our wedding ring cut a cake with Clarisse.

[Antonio is so bossy, making me eat cake and shrimp tacos this late. I'm gonna gain weight. Next time, he's working out with me all night.]

In the photo's corner was a half-eaten plate of shrimp tacos. The sight of it sent a pang of resentment through me.

I was his wife. Yet Antonio split everything in two, even his time.

Worse, Clarisse always came first.

I bit the inside of my cheek until it bled, the metallic taste flooding my mouth.

When Antonio returned, my eyes were red. He bounded in, setting down the tacos and grabbing my hand.

"Your hands are freezing," he said with concern. "You gotta stay warm when I'm not here, or you'll get sick. I'll make you some ginger tea."

He rambled, closed the window, and headed to the kitchen.

Soon, the doorbell rang.

Clarisse showed up and handed him a bag of ginger.

She smiled at me, her words loaded. "Antonio is nice, making you ginger tea. I hope I get that kind of luck someday, marrying someone who loves me like that."

I looked up at the woman whom I had heard so much of.

This was our first meeting.

She was stunning with pale skin and long, wavy hair.

"If you like, you can stay for tea," I said.

Clarisse took me up on it, sitting across from me.

When Antonio brought the tea, he touched my forehead and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

Clarisse pouted, her voice dripping with jealousy. "Iva, you're so lucky. Antonio is so attentive."

Before I could respond, he grabbed a taco and popped it into her mouth. "Eat your food and quit yapping."

There was no scolding in his tone, just indulgence.

Clarisse chewed, feigning surprise. "It's my favorite flavor!"

I stared at her.

Antonio, catching on, stepped forward to block my view and gave me a taco, too. "Honey, have some."

I took a bite, but the garlic hit hard. I spat it out.

Clarisse and Antonio enjoyed their food, but I dumped mine in the trash.

Antonio noticed it, his face darkening. "Why did you toss them?"

I gave a faint smile. "I don't eat garlic. Forgot?"

My words took him aback. I ignored him and headed to the bedroom.

Clarisse's grumbles came from outside as Antonio sent her away.

He came into the room and held me. "Honey, I'm sorry. I forgot you don't like garlic."

I stayed silent, unsure if he forgot or did it on purpose. He knew I never ate garlic.

It was Clarisse who loved them.

"It's not that I don't like it. I'm allergic," I replied. "Have you forgotten how I had an allergic reaction to garlic the year we got married?"

His body stiffened, and his breathing quickened.

Sure enough, he'd forgotten. His heart wasn't with me anymore.

I was eerily calm, not blaming him or anything.

Our marriage was a business arrangement after all. There was some affection, but it wasn't deep.

Our families were old friends. Antonio and I were childhood playmates.

He went abroad young, and we reconnected at my birthday party.

He was charming, confident, and smooth in business and social circles. I, busy with work, had few friends.

His warmth drew me in. Childhood memories resurfaced, and with our parents' nudging, we got married.

So, his cheating felt inevitable.

But I wouldn't forgive him.

Antonio buried his head in my shoulder, trembling as he apologized, "Honey, I messed up. Please forgive me. I'll never forget anything about you again."

"Sure." I brushed him off, closing my eyes.

Arguing with him was meaningless.

The next morning, I woke to a breakfast spread. All my favorites.

I took a bite and put my fork down.