I looked at him and remembered the countless times, after our silent fights, he would do the same—cook a meal, say a few soft words, and wait for me to give in.
Only this time, I didn’t.
“Forget it,” I said quietly, my own voice sounding foreign to me. “My birthday’s already over.”
His smile faltered for a split second, then he masked it with an easy laugh, pulling out a slice of cake and sliding it toward me.
“It’s the new flavor you like.”
It was half a piece of mango cake.
The sugary scent filled the air, thick and cloying.
My throat tightened.
He had never remembered that I was allergic to mango.
Seven years together—and he could name every one of Pearl’s favorite desserts, but couldn’t recall the one thing I couldn’t eat.
I lowered my gaze and swallowed the ache in silence.
He seemed to notice my indifference. His brow furrowed, and irritation crept into his tone.
“Enough already. Just remember to show up tonight—I don’t want to lose face.”
Then, as if to justify himself, he added,
“If it weren’t for Pearl asking me to, I wouldn’t have come back to coax you so soon.”
So that was it.
Even his so-called “apology” had to be prompted by her.
“John,” I began slowly, “I think we should—”
Before I could finish, his phone rang.
The familiar ringtone sliced through the air—and through my chest.
He glanced at the screen, and his entire demeanor softened.
“Pearl? Yeah, I’ll be right there.”
When he hung up, the tenderness vanished.
“She needs something. I’ll go. Don’t forget about tonight.”
He threw on his jacket and left.
I watched his back disappear through the doorway.
This time, I didn’t call out.
I simply picked up my phone and typed two words:
Divorce.
The message was sent, but the screen stayed dark.
Minutes later, another notification appeared—it wasn’t from him.
Pearl had sent me a video.
I tapped it open.
The lighting was dim and warm, laughter spilling from every corner of the private room.
John sat at the center of the table, a slice of mango cake in hand, his tone casual, almost amused.
“Mabel always throws a tantrum when she’s upset. Saying she wants a divorce? She’s just trying to get me to go home.”
The people around him laughed.
“You were about to leave after giving Pearl that massage, right? But the more she fussed, the less you cared.”
A woman’s voice—hers—chimed in playfully as she sliced a bit of cake and lifted it toward him.
“Here, taste this. Isn’t S Café’s new flavor sweet?”
In the final second of the video, she wiped a smear of cream from the corner of his lips—smiling, soft, intimate.
The screen went dark, and my reflection stared back at me, cold and still.
Sweet?
Perhaps to them, it was.
But for me—
I had finally tasted bitterness in its purest form.
“Mabel’s the type who could date anyone, right?”
“Now that Pearl’s back, maybe it’s time for them to rekindle things?”
“Come on, John’s never really gotten over her.”
I said nothing. My eyes stayed fixed on the video, burning with quiet intensity.
Pearl smiled faintly and replied, “Don’t talk nonsense. We’re just old classmates.”
John reached over and flicked her forehead, pretending to scold her.
“Go make up with your little temperamental girlfriend, or people will start getting the wrong idea about us. I won’t be able to wash that off even if I jump into a river.”
He smiled faintly, but there was a shadow in his eyes.
“I know. She won’t really stay mad at me. If I want, I can win her back anytime.”
I stared at the frozen image on the screen, my fingers trembling.
I had told myself, again and again, to let go.
But the heart—
It never listens.
