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.

Antonio came out with warmed milk. "Why aren't you eating? Not to your taste? These bagels and milk are your favorites. I got up early and waited in line for them."

He was right.

They were my favorites, but seeing a photo of the same bagels and milk on my phone made my stomach churn.

He was thorough, always preparing two of everything. He never shortchanged anyone.

"No appetite," I said curtly.

Antonio didn't get mad. He just ate the leftovers.

Watching him, I wondered if he'd eat Clarisse's leftovers too. The thought gave me goosebumps.

His voice brought me back to reality. "Your birthday's coming up. Any gift you want?"

An idea hit me as I looked at his smiling face. "There is a rare diamond ring at the auction. How about that?"

I showed an expectant look, curious if he could manage two identical rings.

On the eve of my birthday, Antonio came home at midnight.

He'd been scarce, claiming he was securing the ring. Half-asleep, I felt him slide something onto my finger.

He whispered, "Happy birthday, honey. I got your diamond."

But he reeked of a sharp perfume—the same one Clarisse wore.

I snapped awake, shoving him away and yelling, "Get away from me! You stink."

My cold glare landed on him. He froze, stunned.

After a moment, he stammered, "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you. I must've picked up some perfume planning your birthday party. I'll wash it off."

He tiptoed to the bathroom.

I stared at the ring, lost in thought.

Before he returned, I'd gotten another anonymous text. Clarisse's finger wore a nearly identical ring.

I couldn't describe the feeling. My eyes welled up.

Antonio came back, gently hugging me and wiping my tears. "It's your birthday. You should be happy. Are you crying because the ring is so perfect?"

He sounded proud.

I shook off his embrace, grabbed a pillow and blanket, and headed to the guest room.

Panicked, he followed, grabbing the door handle. His voice shook with panic. "What's wrong? Why aren't you talking? Did I screw up anything?"

I laughed out loud.

I hadn't planned to confront him yet, but his words pushed me over the edge.

"You've done enough, treating me like a fool," I said. "How could I say you're not good enough? I'd be lucky to get even a fool's treatment."