Three Years Married, Love Split in Half

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.