On the night of our anniversary, I stood in my best dress, waiting for my husband. But instead of Thomas, a delivery arrived—a cake with golden lettering spelling out: “It’s time to get divorced!” An hour later, I was on a flight to uncover the truth.

Marriage suited me. It wasn’t always perfect, but Thomas made me feel loved. Our first year together was filled with laughter, deep conversations, and cozy Sunday mornings.

That’s why I spent two weeks preparing for our first anniversary. Everything had to be perfect—the dinner, the candles, even the designer tie I had secretly bought for him.

But then, my phone rang.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Thomas said casually. “I’m already halfway to the airport.”

I froze. What airport?

“There’s an emergency meeting. Clients. You know how it is…”

“Thomas, today is our anniversary.”

“I know! I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

I stared at the beautifully set table, realizing I would be eating alone. Trying to salvage the evening, I decided on a long bath. That’s when the doorbell rang.

A delivery man handed me a white box tied with a red ribbon. Inside was a cake, the buttercream scent filling the air. But my excitement turned to shock as I read the golden inscription:

“It’s time to get divorced!”

A chill ran through me. A joke? A mistake? Then, I noticed a small note:

“Hope you take this as well as he did. XOXO.”

Before I could process, my phone rang again—Thomas’s mother, Gloria.

“Happy anniversary, darling! How do you like the ring?”

Ring? What ring?

“Oh… it’s beautiful,” I lied, my heart pounding.

Gloria giggled. “Thomas is staying at the same hotel where you two once stayed. How romantic! You should surprise him!”

Surprise him? Something clicked—the cake, the note, the missing ring. Was Thomas cheating on me?

“That’s a great idea,” I said, booking the next flight.

I barely made the last flight, my mind racing with questions. When I arrived at the hotel, the kind receptionist gave me room 614 after I casually flashed the cake.

Standing outside the door, my pulse pounded. I knocked.

A stunning brunette opened it, wrapped in silk. Behind her, on the bed, lay Thomas’s clothes.

She smirked. “Thomas is in the shower. I’ll let him know you stopped by.”

My hands clenched.

“That won’t be necessary,” I said, shifting my grip on the box.

“You look tense,” she cooed. “There’s a great spa downstairs.”

“Oh, I brought my stress relief,” I said sweetly—then smashed the cake into her face.

Buttercream splattered everywhere. She shrieked, stumbling back. “ARE YOU INSANE?!”

“Possibly.”

Then, a voice behind me made me freeze.

“Oh, honey. You weren’t supposed to burst in.”

I turned to see Gloria, sipping champagne in a plush bathrobe.

“What?” I whispered.