“Don’t worry,” I said, a laugh finally escaping me. “Just get home safely.”
About an hour later, Thomas burst through the door, his face a mix of exhaustion and relief. He was clutching a small, pristine red velvet cake. “The real one,” he said, out of breath. He set it on the table next to the divorce cake.
We didn’t end up flying to Miami that night. We stayed home, ordered takeout, and ate both cakes, laughing until we cried about the anniversary we’d never forget. The divorce cake became our favorite part of the story, a reminder that even when things seem to fall apart, our love is strong enough to handle any surprise.
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