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When I got up around 7, he was already missing from the bed. The house was quiet, perhaps he had left for his 8am meeting.

I take my time to get ready, and I have to admit I went all 'awww' the moment I saw a navy-blue work dress was laid on the stool in the middle of the walk-in closet; he really prepared it as he mentioned last night.

There was even a matching set of panties and bra that I'm battling between smacking his head for being a pervert or hug him because of how thoughtful he was to think up to the inner wear.

And yes, there's even a pair of shoes put next to the stool, which I recognise are the ones that Beatrice picked when we went shopping nine months ago.

Just to confirm my suspicion, I go to the side of the closet where my clothes used to reside. And behold, all of them are still there, as if I never left. What's up with this man? He really thinks I'll be back? For what?

Because there's no way I'm gonna be anybody's sugar baby anymore.

I was about to order an Ube
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