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"You're being ridiculous!”

"Call me when you remember what today was supposed to be."

His face went through several expressions—confusion, anger, then something that might have been understanding. "Fine. You want me to acknowledge it? I forgot your big day. I'm sorry. There. Happy now?"

But he didn't sound sorry. He sounded like a parent placating a toddler throwing a tantrum.

I tossed his keys on the coffee table. "Sleep on the couch."

I cried myself to sleep that night as well.

***

The next morning, I woke up with a banging headache from all the crying I did. When I came downstairs, Alexander was already dressed for work, checking emails on his phone.

"We need to talk about last night," he said without looking up.

"Do we?"

"You completely overreacted. I said I was sorry."

I poured myself some brew, my hands steadier than they'd been in hours. "Did you?"

"Yes, I did. And frankly, I don't appreciate being locked out of my own house because I made a simple mistake."

Simple mistake. Like forgetting to pick up milk or missing a phone call.

I wanted to go crazy on him again but I remembered my mothers warnings. “A wise woman holds her family together, Ive, a foolish one uses her own hands to scatter her marriage.”

I didn’t want to be the foolish woman. So I took deep breathes even though my chest hurt me, even though I had a lot of hurt bottled up.

"You're right," I said quietly.

He looked surprised. "I am?"

"You're absolutely right. I was being petty about a simple error." I took a sip, watching his shoulders relax. "I'm sorry for overreacting."

"Good. I'm glad you—"

"I got you something," I interrupted, wanting to get to the sweeter part, I reached for his gift. A silver necklace with a small pendant engraved with our wedding date. "For our special day."

He took the box, saw the expensive jewelry and smiled. “He muttered under his breath. “She’s going to love it.”

I didn’t understand what he meant but for a second, I thought maybe this could still be salvaged. Maybe he'd put it on, or say something sweet, or even just say thank you.

Instead, he pocketed it. “I don't have a gift for you honey, but you know what? I’ll make this even for us.”

I swallowed down more hurt. It tasted like acid in my throat.

"H-how," I asked.

He grinned. "Well, Sophia's been feeling really down lately. I'm going to give her this necklace you got me.”

The mug slipped from my hands and shattered on the kitchen floor.

"Ivy? You okay?"

I stared at the brown liquid spreading across the white tiles, seeping into the cracks between them like it was trying to escape.

“You’re giving… your best friend, my anniversary gift to you?”

Alexander sighed. ”Cone on Ive, don’t act so selfish again. You know how Sophia gets when her depression kicks in, and jewelry always cheers her up. That way, we haven’t given each other gifts and then we could do this the right way next year, I promise it’s going to be different next year.”

The same empty promises, the same lies.

"I have a lot to do and don’t bother, I want to pick up Lucas from school today," I said, my voice sounding far away.

"Right. Good. I'll see you tonight."

The door closed behind him, and I stood there in my bare feet, surrounded by broken ceramic and spilled liquid, trying to process what had just happened. He wanted to give my wedding gift to another woman. To her. Because she was feeling down.

I grabbed my phone and texted my best friend Maya: "Emergency meeting. Now."

Her response came back immediately: "What did he do this time?"

That afternoon, I pulled up to Lucas's elementary school, my stomach still twisted in knots from my conversation with Maya. She'd used words I couldn't repeat and made threats against my husband that were probably illegal in three states. But she'd also asked the one question I'd been avoiding: "Why are you still with him?"

I loved my husband that’s why. But Maya wouldn’t understand. So I stayed quiet.

I got to Lucas’s school early, eager to see my son, hug him tight, and let all my troubles drain.

So I sat in my car watching other parents gather near the pickup area. Most of them were moms like me, looking tired but trying to hold it together. A few dads scattered in the mix, checking their phones or making work calls.

Then I saw her.

I sat up straight.

Sophia stood near the front of the pickup line, wearing a flowing yellow sundress and talking animatedly with Mrs. Patterson, Lucas's teacher. Her long black hair caught the sunlight, and she looked so effortlessly beautiful it made my chest tight.

But what made my stomach drop was what she had around her neck.

She was wearing my gift and laughing with my son's teacher like she belonged there.

What the fuck was she doing there?

Before I could think twice, I got out of the car and walked toward her, my heels clicking against the pavement with each determined step.

"Sophia," I called out, forcing my voice to sound calm even though my heart was hammering against my ribs.

Other parents were starting to stare, probably wondering why I looked ready to commit murder in broad daylight.

She turned around with that perfect smile of hers, the one that made everyone fall in love with her instantly. "Oh, Ivy! What a surprise to see you here."

"What are you doing here?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.

Her laugh was light and airy, like everything about her. "I'm here to pick up Lucas, of course. I always pick him up from school."

Always? Always?!

"What do you mean, always?" My voice came out sharp and annoyed.

"Well, for the past two years since he started school here," she said, tilting her head like she was confused by my reaction. "Alex asked me to handle the school runs because he's so busy with work. I thought you knew?"

Two years. Two whole years, and I had no idea another woman was picking up my son from school every single day. While I sat at home working on my illustrations, thinking my husband was taking care of our child, he had delegated that responsibility to another woman.