The fifth anniversary of my marriage turned into a nightmare. I had spent the entire day preparing a delicious dinner, eagerly waiting for my husband, David, to come home from work. I wanted everything to be perfect. The table was set, candles flickering, and the scent of homemade lasagna filled the air.

When David finally walked through the door, I greeted him with a warm smile, but he barely looked at me. Instead, his eyes traveled down my dress with a look of disdain. “What the hell are you even wearing? You look fat in this,” he sneered.

His words stung, cutting through me like a knife. I had chosen this dress because it was his favorite color, hoping to rekindle the spark between us. Before I could respond, David pulled an envelope from his pocket. “I have something for you,” he said, a peculiar smirk playing on his lips.

Overjoyed, I took the envelope, expecting to see tickets to Paris. My husband knew how much I wanted to go there. As I opened the envelope, my heart raced with anticipation, but what I saw made my blood run cold. It was a divorce notice.

“Tell me it’s a joke,” I pleaded, tears welling up in my eyes.

David’s face remained hard and unyielding. “I don’t have the time to joke around with you. Because…I hate you,” he said flatly.

“Why?” I barely managed to get the words out, my voice choked with emotion.

“Why?” David scowled. “Just look at yourself in the mirror…you will know why.”

I stood there, speechless, unable to comprehend the cruelty of his words. As if to add salt to the wound, David continued, “Besides, someone is waiting for me in the car.”

“Jessica!” David’s eyes glinted with a strange spark of joy. “My secretary, remember? Always fit, polished, and sexy!”

“You were… cheating on me?” I stammered. “With your secretary, Jessica?”