Chapter 1

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my husband Logan’s first love posted wedding photos on Instagram.

Her caption read: *Day 9,999 since knowing Logan. Finally took our wedding photos! Tonight's candlelit dinner was so sweet!*

Their mutual friends flooded the comments with congratulations.

I stared at the screen, watching Logan’s devoted, loving expression in the photos.

Without hesitation, I snapped a picture of our actual marriage license, posted it to my story, and tagged both Logan and his precious Chloe.

Less than two minutes later, my phone blew up. The second I answered, Logan’s furious voice exploded through the speaker:

"Claire! Chloe just finalized her divorce! We were only taking fake wedding photos to spite her toxic ex! Did you really have to post our marriage license just to rub salt in her wounds?"

"Are you that desperate to let the whole world know what a petty, insecure bitch I married? Do you want all my friends laughing at me?!"

A few moments later, Chloe posted another photo and deliberately tagged me:

*Logan bought me a massive rock to cheer me up.*

I rubbed the plain, tarnished band on my ring finger and let out a cold laugh.

This marriage was over.

……

Today was supposed to be our fifth wedding anniversary.

Logan had told me he wanted a candlelit dinner, so I took the afternoon off work to cook everything from scratch.

This morning, I had reminded him to come home early.

Now, I watched the candle wax melt into cold puddles. The food on the table grew stone cold. Logan never showed up.

Bored and waiting, I had opened Instagram, only to see him and Chloe posing as bride and groom.

So that was why he hadn't answered my calls all day. He wasn’t busy working. He was playing house with another woman. And that candlelit dinner wasn't meant for me at all.

Watching their friends shower them with blessings felt absurd. So I exposed him—only to get an earful of venom.

At half past midnight, the front door finally clicked open. Logan walked in.

He was carrying a cake box. Seeing the ruined candles and untouched food on the dining table, his forehead creased in irritation:

"Claire, are you a child? Playing with fire at dinner? What if you burned the house down? And why cook so much food if you're eating alone? What a complete waste."

He hit me with accusation after accusation. Exhausted, I stood up and started putting the cold dishes into the fridge.

"Logan, do you even know what today is?"

"What day? Don't tell me it's our anniversary or something."

My hands paused over a ceramic plate. After a few seconds, I replied quietly, "No."

He let out a relieved sigh. "I knew it. Isn't our anniversary next month? I really don't get why people obsess over these stupid dates."

Logan had never gotten our anniversary right. In five years, he had never even remembered my actual birthday.

People might say he was just an oblivious guy. Yet, he knew Chloe's birthday down to the minute. He knew the exact number of days they had been friends, and he never failed to bring her a heating pad and painkillers whenever she had cramps.

Logan pulled out a chair, sat down, and slid the bakery box toward me.

"Chloe bought this for you. She wanted to apologize. Look at you, throwing a tantrum online, and she's still the bigger person, buying you cake. She has way more class than you."

He opened the lid. It was a mango shortcake.

"Look at that. Fresh mangoes all over it. See how sincere she is?"

I sneered and threw the entire cake straight into the trash can.

Logan jumped to his feet, outraged.

"What the hell is wrong with you?! You terrified Chloe today, and she still went out of her way to buy you an apology cake! Stop being so damn ungrateful!"

I had a life-threatening mango allergy. Even a tiny trace caused severe hives, swelling, and anaphylactic shock.

Chloe knew this. At our wedding five years ago, she had intentionally handed me a glass contaminated with mango juice, trying to humiliate me.

And Logan knew it too.

"I’m severely allergic to mangoes!"

I trembled, staring at the crushed cake in the bin.

Logan didn't care. He clamped his fingers around my wrist, pulling out his phone with his other hand.

"You're the one who owes her an apology! I'm calling Chloe right now. You're going to apologize to her."

"No! Let go of me!" I screamed, struggling against his grip. Logan was much stronger than me. In the scuffle, he swung his elbow back, hitting me squarely in the stomach.

Pain exploded across my abdomen like thousands of needles tearing through my nerves. The agony doubled me over, knocking the air right out of my lungs.

Seeing my face pale, Logan panicked. He shoved his phone into his pocket and hastily helped me onto a chair.

Ever since my miscarriage, my abdomen had been fragile. It couldn't take that kind of blunt force.

Just one month ago, I had lost our three-month-old baby.