Happy anniversary

"Sign them, Mira. I want a divorce."

Dante Russo dropped the papers on the dining table. They landed right beside the cake.

Mira stared at them. She had spent six hours on that cake. It was dark chocolate, his favorite, with a tiny sugar groom and bride on top that she had shaped by hand.

"Today is our anniversary," she whispered.

"I know what day it is." Dante did not even take off his coat. "My father signed the company over to me this morning. I'm the CEO of the Russo Group now. He can't threaten my inheritance anymore, so nobody can force me to stay married to you."

"Is this about Celine?"

"This is about what you did on Tuesday!" He was shouting now. "You went to her building and screamed at her in the lobby. Someone filmed it, Mira. Half the city has watched my wife call an innocent woman a home-wrecker!"

"Innocent?" Mira's voice shook. "You pay her rent, Dante. I saw the bank transfers."

"Because she has nothing! She left her whole life in Lakeport to come here with me. And then my father and your family made sure no bakery, no restaurant, no office in Brookhaven would hire her."

Mira's face burned. She had sat in her father-in-law's study while he made those calls, and she had not said a word to stop him. Part of her had been glad.

"I only wanted her to go back home," she said quietly.

"So you admit it." Dante gave a short, hard laugh. "And who told you where she lived? Who sent you those pictures?"

"I don't know! Someone kept sending them. For months. Photos of you two at lunch. You walking her to her door..."

"And you believed a stranger over your own husband." He shook his head slowly. "Do you hear yourself? You check my phone. You follow my car. You call my office six times a day. You're not a wife, Mira. You're a warden."

Mira flinched as if he had raised his hand.

"I was scared," she said. "I've been scared since the day you brought her home."

She still remembered that day. Dante had walked into his parents' anniversary party with a stranger on his arm. The woman had long dark hair, a dimple in one cheek, and the same small, pointed chin Mira saw in the mirror every morning.

Everyone at that party had noticed. Celine looked almost exactly like Mira. And Dante had brought Celine.

"I told you the truth before the wedding. I told you I didn't want this. You married me anyway!"

"We've known each other since I was eight!" Mira stepped toward him. "You used to save me the last cannoli at every family dinner. You taught me to ride a bike in your driveway. When I was thirteen, I told you I was going to marry you one day, and you smiled at me. You smiled, Dante!"

"I was eighteen. I was being nice to a kid."

Mira opened her mouth. Nothing came out.

'Being nice,' she thought. 'I built my whole life on him being nice.'

"I gave up Paris for you," she said. "The pastry school accepted me. I turned it down so I could stay here with you."

"I never asked you to."

It was true. He never had. She had stayed because she was afraid that the moment she left, Celine would take her place.

Dante picked up the papers and held them out to her. "My grandfather made a promise to yours forty years ago. My father held it over my head like a knife. Marry the Beaumont girl or lose everything. That's what this marriage is. A contract I signed because I had no choice."

"And the nights you held me?" Her voice came out small. "The dinner in the rain last spring, when you gave me your jacket? Was that a contract too?"

He looked away. "I was trying. It didn't work."

Mira's knees gave way. She sank to the floor in front of him and wrapped her arms around his legs, pressing her wet face against his coat.

"Please," she begged. "I love you. I've loved you my whole life. I'll stop checking your phone. I'll never go near her again. I'll be whatever you want. Just don't do this. Not tonight. Not on our anniversary."

"Get up, Mira."

"Not until you say you'll stay!"

Dante pulled himself out of her arms and stepped back.

"I have never loved you, Mira," he said. "Not for one single day."

Mira stayed on her knees. Her arms were still half raised. Slowly, she let them fall into her lap.

Neither of them moved. Above the fireplace, the clock kept ticking.

Mira's eyes landed on the papers. On the first page, in bold black letters, was her name. Mira Beaumont Russo. Beneath it, a line was waiting for her signature.

'This is really happening,' she thought. 'He planned this. He had these drawn up before he even walked in the door.'

"When did you turn into this?" Dante said finally, and he sounded tired more than angry. "The girl I grew up with laughed at everything. Now all you do is watch me. Count my calls. Wait for me to lie."

'I'm still the same girl,' Mira wanted to scream. 'I just loved you too much. Is that a crime?'

She said nothing. She could only stare at the sugar bride on top of the cake.

Dante slapped the papers down on the table. The cake shook. The little sugar groom tipped over and fell on his side.

"You have one week to sign," he said. "My lawyer's number is on the last page."

He turned toward the door.

"Where are you going?" Mira asked. Her voice cracked. "Dante. Where are you going?"

He stopped with his hand on the door handle. He did not turn around.

"Somewhere I can breathe," he said. "Celine's, maybe."

The next thing Mira heard was the front door slamming so hard that the windows rattled.