After hanging up the phone, I calmly shut down my laptop. "It's nothing. I was just discussing a divorce case with Mr. Powell."

Frederick's expression changed instantly, and he rushed over to me. "What divorce? Do you want to divorce me?"

I took two steps back and replied dismissively, "No, it's a case. Mr. Powell wanted my opinion on something."

Only then did Frederick relax, handing me the paper bag he'd been carrying. "This is for you."

The logo on the bag belonged to my favorite bakery. Before we were married, whenever he upset me, he would run to this shop to buy me a cake. The place was always busy, requiring at least two hours of waiting in line each time.

He would personally wait in line regardless of the weather to make me happy, just because I wanted some. Sometimes I felt bad for him and suggested he hire a delivery service instead.

However, Frederick would always say, "Cece, it's fine. I'm more than happy to do it for you."

Remembering this warmed my heart, and I couldn't help but smile as I took the bag and opened it. "I can't believe you still remember. Wait, what is this?"

I stared at him in shock, a terrible feeling rising in my chest. Inside the bag weren't the cakes I expected, but two pieces of clothing that reeked of alcohol. One was Frederick's suit jacket, and the other was the dress Emma had worn tonight.

Faced with my questioning look, Frederick seemed unusually embarrassed. "Emma's dress got dirty. I figured since you're used to doing the laundry anyway, it's just as easy to wash two articles of clothing. So I just brought them both back."

Then, he seemed to remember something, and his tone turned dismissive. "Besides, I'll just use another reconciliation voucher. We have so many left anyway, so you don't need to be petty about it."

All my words got stuck in my throat. I wanted to tell him that there weren't many left, as only two vouchers remained.

However, when the words reached my lips, I just looked at him deeply. Then, I stuffed the clothes into the washing machine. Previously, I never used the machine to ensure his clothes stayed perfectly clean and always hand-washed everything piece by piece.

Looking back, I had been such a fool. What I thought was being a good wife had made me nothing more than a free housekeeper in his eyes.

I laughed bitterly at myself and closed the laundry room door before returning to the bedroom. Seeing me return so quickly, Frederick looked surprised.

"That fast? Did you get them clean? That's Emma's favorite dress, and I promised her you'd wash it properly."

I hummed in acknowledgment and began getting ready for bed.

Just then, a familiar ringtone came from outside. Frederick glanced nervously at my expression before taking his phone and sneaking out to the balcony.

I quietly followed and overheard Emma's sweet voice. "Mr. Morrison, the cake you bought me was so delicious! I've never had a cake like this before. It's just that the line was a bit long. I feel so bad."

Frederick glanced toward the bedroom and replied indulgently, "It's nothing. Whenever you want some, I'll buy it for you. I'm happy to do it for you."

Emma giggled sweetly and said coquettishly, "What about my dress? Is it really okay to have Ms. Harper wash it? I don't want to make things difficult for you."

Frederick chuckled softly. "What's difficult about it? She's used to doing it. Besides, your hands are so beautiful. I'd feel terrible if you had to do rough work like that."

I froze and instinctively looked down at my own hands.

Years of doing housework had indeed made the skin on my hands rough. It was no wonder Frederick found them unappealing. Not wanting to hear any more, I fled somewhat awkwardly into the bathroom.

…

Ten minutes later, he knocked on the door. "Cecilia, something came up at the company. I need to head over there. Get some sleep."

I hummed in acknowledgment. Just as he was about to leave, I suddenly spoke up. "Frederick, if you don't come back tonight, can I use a reconciliation voucher?"

I looked at him with tears still glistening in my eyes. He paused mid-step, then immediately turned. "Of course."

Frederick smiled at me, his expression relaxed. "Don't worry, I'll definitely be home before midnight. You won't need to use that voucher."

Looking at his face, which hadn't changed much from five years ago, I suppressed the bitterness in my heart and smiled slightly. "Alright, I'll wait for you."

…

It was three hours until midnight when I paid a premium for a delivery service to buy me a cake.

Frederick's assistant, Taylor Hanson, posted on social media complaining about working overtime alone in the empty office.

Frederick sent me a message. "Just got to the company. I'll be home soon."

When it was two hours until midnight, I found a picture of him proposing to me while organizing my photo album. I posted it online on impulse. "I can't believe we've been together for five years already."

Frederick quickly replied, "More than five years."

He also sent me a photo of the night scenery with the message: "The night is beautiful tonight. It reminds me of you."

I didn't reply because I recognized the skyline in the background. It wasn't near his office but in the city center, where the most romantic restaurants were located.

Emma couldn't resist posting something only I could see. "You may have married your perfect woman, but I'm the one you really want."

In the bottom left corner of her photo, Frederick's left hand was clearly visible. He wasn't wearing his wedding ring.

When it was an hour until midnight, I curled up on the couch, playing our wedding video on loop while eating the cake the delivery person had brought. Somehow, the cake tasted increasingly salty, though.

I thought I would probably never like this cake again.

It was 30 minutes until midnight when Frederick stopped replying to my messages. I stopped bothering him and began packing my belongings.

Finally, I took out the last reconciliation voucher from the jar just one minute before midnight, ready to tear it up. Suddenly, someone knocked on the front door.

I paused and hurried to open it.

"Hello, this is a gift from Mr. Frederick Morrison. Please sign for it."

The delivery person held a jewelry box, looking professional and courteous. At the same time, Frederick's message popped up.

"Sorry, I have to stay at the office tonight. Use the reconciliation voucher if you want. I'll bring you your favorite cake when I get home."

I was about to reply when I accidentally knocked over the bookshelf. The wedding photo that had been displayed there for five years crashed to the floor with a loud bang, scattering glass shards everywhere.

The delivery person jumped and quickly asked, "Miss, do you need help cleaning this up?"

I shook my head and typed on my phone. "Don't bother with the cake, Frederick. The reconciliation vouchers are all used up. Let's get divorced."

The next second, hundreds of messages flooded my phone.