On the seventh anniversary of our relationship, I carefully selected a cake from Cheesecake Factory, hoping to make the day memorable.
Just as I set it down to celebrate, a strange girl approached, her wide eyes fixed on the cake, saying she wanted a piece, too.
I hesitated, uncertain, but eventually reached for the knife to cut her a slice. Before I could, she suddenly pulled out a lighter and ignited the hydrogen balloon hanging closest to me.
The balloon burst instantly, flames roaring dangerously near my face.
When the fire subsided, the scene that met my eyes left me frozen.
My boyfriend, Charles Caddel, was holding the strange girl tightly in his arms, shielding her as if she were the one in danger.
As I stood rooted in disbelief, he rushed to explain, his words tumbling over each other. "Don’t misunderstand! She’s my sister. She was just joking around, that’s all!"
The girl, Dorothea Caddel, let out a pitiful wail, tears streaming down her face. "Sis-in-law is so mean! It’s just a silly cake!"
Then, as if her tantrum wasn’t enough, she shoved the table with such force that the cake I had spent hours preparing shattered into pieces on the floor.
I stood motionless, my gaze locked on the crooked number seven lying amidst the wreckage on the floor. The candles hadn't even been lit, let alone blown out.
A bitter thought clawed its way into my mind; maybe this was the sign I needed. Maybe it was time to let go.
——
Charles stepped toward me, his expression briefly flickering with pity. He reached for my sleeve, his voice soft, almost coaxing.
"Don’t be upset. It’s just a cake. I’ll get you another one."
He hesitated before adding, "Dorothea is just childish. She’s been spoiled since she was little, but she doesn’t mean any harm."
"She’s always wanted to meet you," he continued, his tone overly indulgent. "When she found out it was our anniversary, she probably thought it’d be funny to play a harmless joke."
I stared at him in disbelief, tightening my chest. How could he be so blind, so blatantly biased, as if her actions weren’t a deliberate slap in the face?
Tears burned in my eyes as anger surged through me. I snapped back, my voice laced with disbelief.
"Childish? Then she must be aging terribly, don’t you think? What is she, three years old this year? Hah, more like thirty-one!"
My words came sharper now, cutting through his weak defense.
"And even if she were three, even toddlers know better than to play with fire! Don’t tell me she was joking; she lit that balloon on purpose!"
Charles pinched the bridge of his nose, his frustration evident. His voice carried the weight of impatience as he replied, "Isabella, can you stop making such a big deal over something so trivial?"
"Besides, if you hadn’t insisted on decorating with balloons, Dorothea wouldn’t have had anything to light in the first place. Honestly, I didn’t even want to celebrate this anniversary. Seven years together, do we really need all this ceremony?"
I froze, his words slicing through me like a cold wind. My heart ached, the pain sharp and suffocating.
"Little things?" I repeated, my voice trembling with disbelief.
"Do you have any idea how close those flames came to my face? How close they were to my eyes?"
My voice rose with each word, my chest tightening with the weight of betrayal.
"I could’ve been disfigured. Blinded. Do you understand that? And you call this a ‘little thing’?"
"Charles, I’m your girlfriend. Seven years, and this is what I mean to you? Is my safety so meaningless to you?"
This time, Charles said nothing. His silence spoke louder than any excuse he could muster.
But his expression darkened, irritation flickering in his eyes. The tension between us thickened, but before I could speak, Dorothea suddenly burst into loud, theatrical sobs, her cries echoing across the restaurant.
Rubbing her eyes dramatically, she wailed like a child seeking sympathy.
"Sis-in-law, I know I was wrong! Please don’t argue with my brother anymore! I promise I’ll never eat cake again!"
Heads turned, and whispers rippled through the room like wildfire. The sight of the ruined cake on the floor seemed to spark judgment in every glance cast my way.
"What kind of sister-in-law makes such a fuss over a cake?" one woman muttered, her disapproval unmistakable.
"Exactly," someone else chimed in. "Poor girl probably didn’t mean it. So petty to cause such a scene!"
Another voice cut through, sharper than the rest. "Women like that shouldn’t be married. She’ll only bring trouble to her household!"
Each comment felt like a slap, their words sinking into my chest like stones. The weight of their stares made the air thick, almost suffocating.
