I had the whole evening planned. Our first wedding anniversary. A candlelit dinner, my best dress, and the tie Thomas once paused to admire in that boutique window—wrapped and waiting.

I spent two weeks preparing every detail. From perfecting duck à l’orange to folding napkins into rosebuds, everything had to be just right. I wanted us to remember this night as the start of something beautiful. Not the beginning of unraveling.

Then the phone rang.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Thomas said, far too casually. “I’m already headed to the airport. Last-minute client thing. I’ll make it up to you, promise.”

I stared at the flickering candles on the table.

“Thomas,” I said softly. “It’s our anniversary.”

“I haven’t forgotten,” he said brightly. “We’ll celebrate when I get back.”

I didn’t argue. I just hung up, my voice betraying nothing. He’d ruined the night, but I refused to let him ruin my mood. I lit a few more candles and decided to treat myself to a long bubble bath.

Halfway through, the doorbell rang.

Wrapped in a towel, I opened the door to find a delivery man holding a cake box tied with a red ribbon. “Anonymous delivery,” he said cheerily.

My heart fluttered—maybe Thomas had arranged something after all?

But when I opened the box, the breath left my lungs.

Written in gold script across the cake: “It’s time to get divorced.”

Inside, a card: “Hope you take this as well as he did. XOXO.”

What kind of cruel joke was this?

My phone rang again. It was Gloria—Thomas’s mother.

“Happy anniversary, darling!” she trilled. “Thomas told me he sent you a stunning ring. Isn’t it divine?”

My blood turned to ice.

“I… yes. It’s beautiful,” I lied.

“And how romantic—him staying at that hotel you two visited last year. Why don’t you surprise him, Anna? You’re spontaneous like that!”

It clicked. The cake. The missing ring. The trip. I knew what I had to do.

“Thanks for the idea, Gloria,” I said sweetly. “I’ll surprise him tonight.”

Within the hour, I was on a flight.

I arrived at the hotel just before midnight, my nerves fraying with every step toward room 614.

I knocked. A beautiful woman answered, wrapped in a silk robe, wearing a smirk that made my skin crawl.

“Thomas is in the shower,” she said lazily. “You must be the wife.”

I smiled coldly. “And you must be Alicia.”

She blinked. “Want to leave a message?”

I lifted the cake box.

“Actually, I brought dessert.”

Before she could react, I smashed the cake into her face. Buttercream splattered everywhere.

“You psycho!” she screamed, slipping on frosting and landing in a heap.

“Compliments of the wife,” I said, stepping over her.

But the next sight stopped me cold.

Sitting at a table with a champagne flute in hand, completely unfazed, was Gloria.

“Oh,” she said, barely glancing up. “You weren’t supposed to show up.”

I blinked. “You?”

She nodded. “Thomas is at another hotel. This was my plan, darling. I told you—you were never right for him.”

“You sent the cake?”

“I baked it,” she said proudly. “Alicia’s the perfect match. Beautiful, successful. Well-connected.”

“You’re insane,” I muttered.

She took a slow sip. “I’m efficient.”

But I was ready.

I pulled out my phone. “Funny thing—I called Thomas when I got here. Left the line open. He heard everything.”

Gloria froze.

On speaker, Thomas’s voice erupted: “Mom, I can’t believe this! You set her up?! I’m coming right now.”

Gloria paled. For the first time, her confidence cracked.

“Enjoy the cake,” I said, turning toward the door. “Looks better on Alicia anyway.”

Later, in the hotel lobby, Thomas rushed in, breathless.

“I’m so sorry,” he said.

“I’m starving,” I replied. “You still owe me dinner.”

He took my hand. “And a new cake.”

“Without buttercream,” I teased.

That night, we toasted not just our anniversary—but the end of Gloria’s manipulations.

I knew she’d try again. But she underestimated one thing.

I wasn’t going anywhere.