I accidentally fell down the stairs, and my husband was out to bring a cake to the woman he first loved before me. She was craving for one made by him, and just like that, he drove over 300 miles, crossing state lines.

Later, she posted a picture of it on Instagram—a fancy Black Forest cake, with my husband's hand visible at the edge of the photo. I read the caption.

Anya Winters: [Thanks for making the trip just for me. Made me feel like we're always close to each other, even though we're miles apart.]

I let out a bitter laugh and rested my hand on my still-flat belly. This pregnancy had to end, so I booked an appointment. Besides, there was no point in keeping my marriage alive.

——

"Mrs. Donovan, you took a bad fall, but the baby's fine. Are you sure you want to go through with the procedure?" the doctor asked.

I nodded, too drained to explain.

Even with the anesthesia, I could still feel it—every bit of life slowly slipping away, leaving a hollow ache. But all I could think about was how the father of this child drove for hours just to deliver a cake to Anya while I was lying in the hospital after my accident, sending him message after message, calling endlessly, and getting not a single word in return.

When I finally managed to get Cedric on the phone, I was desperate, hoping for any bit of comforting words. But I was met by his sharp voice.

"What now? Can't you see I'm busy? Do you think I have time to deal with you all day? I'm driving—stop calling me!"

He hung up before I could even tell him our baby might not make it.

Hours later, I saw Anya's post. It was all sweet, practically flaunting my husband's efforts. The caption and the photo felt like a punch to the gut.

My marriage was really done. So will my abortion. I scheduled it, prepared to let go of the child I had wanted so much but couldn't bring into a loveless family.

Cedric didn't come home until the next night, with his first love by his side, looking stunning as always.

He casually handed me a strawberry cake, saying, "Anya brought you a dessert. Why don't you try it?"

I glanced at the cake—it looked cheap, the strawberries bruised and sad-looking. Without a second thought, I threw it in the trash.

"Astrid! What's your problem? That was a gift from Anya! How can you be so rude?" he snapped.

"It's okay, Cedric," Anya chimed in, linking her arm with his. "Maybe she just doesn't like strawberry." Her tone was sweet, but the look she gave me wasn't.

I stared at them, feeling empty inside. I met my husband's eyes, and I said, "Cedric, I'm allergic to strawberries."

The anger on his face faded, replaced by a flash of realization. As guilt must have crept inside him, he looked away.

"Astrid…" he started, but he didn't seem to know how to apologize.

"It's my fault," Anya jumped in, her eyes filling with tears. "Astrid, I just wanted to bring you something nice. Please don't blame Cedric."

"No, Anya, don't cry. This isn't your fault," Cedric quickly said, reaching to wipe Anya's tears away.

I'd had enough of the damn act.

Turning away, I headed to my room, saying, "It's late. I'm going to bed. You two can see yourselves out."

From behind the closed door, I could still hear my husband comforting that woman in a gentle voice before they left.

I glanced at our wedding photo on the wall, and just like that, I couldn't hold back the tears any longer.

I was about to drift off when Cedric finally walked into our bedroom. He'd been out dropping Anya off, and considering how late it was, they must've taken their sweet time saying goodbye.

He sat down next to me, and right away, the thick, sugary scent of some perfume—definitely not mine—hit me like a punch.

"Astrid," he said, trying to keep his voice gentle, "I was on a business trip yesterday and just happened to pass through Anya's city. We had a chance to clear up a misunderstanding, so we came back together. And about that cake—she was just being thoughtful. You really didn't need to throw it in the trash."

I slowly sat up, a bitter smile tugging at my lips as I took a good look at him. His shirt was rumpled, the collar loose, and right there, just barely visible, was a smear of lipstick.

He kept going, that soft tone almost coaxing, but every word was about Anya—defending her. It sounded like I was the villain.

It hit me then, like another punch in the gut, that the man I'd loved for so long was… gone. Or maybe he'd never really been here. It felt like I was looking at a stranger.

He noticed me pulling away and reached out, trying to wrap me in a hug, but I jerked back, instinctively pushing him away.

"I've explained everything!" Cedric snapped, his patience running thin. "What do you want from me? Should I get on my knees and beg? And that cake—it wouldn't kill you to eat a piece! Did you have to make it such a big deal?"

I met his gaze, my voice calm and cold. "I heard you. Now, I'm going to sleep."

With that, I turned off the light, my back to him. He let out a frustrated huff and stormed off to the guest room. For the first time, I didn't follow. I didn't try to smooth things over. I just let him go. And that night, I actually slept soundly.

By the time I woke up, he was already gone.

Later, I had to drop some files off in his office. I pushed open the door, and there she was—Anya. She was standing right next to him, leaning in close. She wore this fitted suit that hugged her curves, her long wavy hair spilling over her shoulders. She was saying something to him, her voice low and too familiar.

Cedric's eyes flicked to me, and for a second, he looked uneasy. Then he quickly pulled it together. "Anya didn't have any projects lined up, so I offered her a job as my assistant. She could use the experience," he explained, almost as if rehearsed.

"Astrid, don't get upset," Anya chimed in, her voice soft and sweet. "Cedric's just helping me out. There's really nothing going on."

I barely acknowledged her, I just set the files down and walked out. I didn't feel upset. I didn't feel hurt. Just… nothing.

I caught Cedric opening his mouth like he was about to call me back, but in the end, he didn't say a word.

Catching them together would've torn me up inside. I would've clung to him like I used to, desperate for him to reassure me, to say he loved me. But it all didn't do our marriage anything other than push him away.

"Nothing is going on between me and Anya," he used to say. "You're always imagining things. Maybe you should look at yourself."

After a while, I just stopped asking. After losing the baby, it felt like whatever love I had for him died, too. The emptiness? Work filled it.

Around lunchtime, I saw Cedric and Anya leaving together, side by side, looking like they were inseparable.

The office had emptied, with just me left working overtime. As I was about to pack up, I heard Anya's voice. "Cedric, your tie's a little crooked. Hold on, lemme fix it."

She was right up close to him, adjusting his tie with a tenderness that made my stomach twist. They stood there, just a breath apart, almost like they were daring me to react.

Without a word, I shut down my computer, grabbed my bag, and walked out.

"Astrid, you're not mad, right? I mean, I was just doing my job," Anya said with a bright smile, her red lips parting as she spoke. "Cedric and I are meeting a client for dinner soon, so we had to look professional, you know."

I gave a nod, playing along. "Yeah, you're right. It makes sense."

But Cedric didn't seem convinced. He grabbed my arm, his grip tightening as he glared at me. "You heard it! It's just work! Are you really going to be jealous over this? Anya and I are just colleagues—stop assuming the worst!"

I almost let out a laugh. Just colleagues? He really had the nerve to say that with a straight face!

I shook off his hand, keeping my voice steady. "I'm not jealous, Cedric. She did what she was supposed to do, and you heard me, I'm cool with it. Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got plans."

Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked away. I wasn't lying—I really did have plans—dinner with a divorce lawyer who had a good reputation for handling messy cases. We were meeting at the Italian restaurant downstairs.

By the time I got there, the lawyer was already seated, waiting for me. We went over the details, and as we talked, I glanced out the window. There they were—Cedric and Anya, walking out of the office together. He opened the passenger door for her and even reached out to shield her head as she got in. Then, they drove away.

That spot in his car used to be mine. But ever since Anya came back, I found myself pushed out little by little. At first, I didn't want to give it up, but Cedric brushed me off, saying she was just a guest and that I was being unreasonable.

Looking back, I should've known then—I wasn't just losing the front seat. I was losing everything, too.

I turned my attention back to the lawyer, listening as she laid out the options. I asked her to draft a divorce agreement, and she seemed thorough, which helped me relax a bit.

Later that night, I went home and started packing after finalizing my resignation letter. Funny enough, after making up my mind to leave, I actually felt lighter—like I could finally breathe.

Then, my phone buzzed. It was a friend, sounding frantic. "Astrid, you've got to get over here! Josie got into a fight at the bar!"

My heart dropped. Josie Calloway was my best friend—bold and blunt, but she always kept it together. It wasn't like her to just lose it, so as soon as I got the address, I rushed downstairs to grab a cab.

When I arrived, I wasn't expecting to see who was there. Standing across from Josie were Cedric and Anya.

"You homewrecker!" Josie shouted, her words slurred from drinking. "The man you're messing around with has got a wife, and you're still all over him? Fucking shameless!"

I quickly moved to Josie's side, trying to keep her steady. When she saw me, she gave a half-smile. "Astrid! You're here!"

Then, she turned back to Anya, still yelling. "Stupid! Both of you! What, you thought it was romantic to give him booze mouth-to-mouth? Can he not drink on his own?! Oh, right, maybe flirting with a married man is just your thing, huh?"

Anya stood there, drenched, leaning into Cedric, tears streaming down her face.

"Astrid, your friend's way out of line!" Cedric barked, his face red with anger. "Anya was just here with me to unwind after work, and she gets humiliated like this? You two better mind your own businesses!"

He was practically yelling at me now, like I was supposed to be the one apologizing, and I just stood there, feeling a strange sense of calm.