FLORENCE’S POVOn the night of my husband’s birthday, I placed the cake I’d spent five hours making on the dining table, feeling a flicker of hope. Maybe this time would be different. Maybe he’d walk in, see the effort I’d put in, and smile—really smile—like he used to. Maybe, just for one night, we could be something close to happy.The front door beeped. My heart skipped, anticipation bubbling in my chest. I turned, ready to greet him.Just as Mason spotted the cake, his face turned sour. “Didn’t I tell you not to do this?” he sighed, “I have a jet waiting to take me to Chicago right now.” Even tired from his long day, he looked handsome in his tailor-made designer suit, like the wealthy, powerful CEO he was. I took the cake plate in my hands and went up to him, a big smile on my face. But he didn’t look as happy to see me. “Just take one bite of the cake,” I begged. “It’s your favorite, and I made it myself!” He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. “Florence, I only
Last Updated : 2025-02-11 Read more