The Anniversary Betrayal – A Cake-Fueled Revenge
I never thought my first wedding anniversary would end like this.
Marriage was good for me. No, it wasn’t always sunshine and roses—Thomas forgot to take out the trash sometimes, and I occasionally burned dinner—but we were happy. We laughed over breakfast disasters, stayed up too late talking about nothing, and fell asleep tangled together like two puzzle pieces that just fit.
So when our first anniversary rolled around, I wanted everything to be perfect.
For two whole weeks, I planned.
I hunted down the perfect duck à l’Orange recipe, practiced it twice (the first time was a disaster), and set the table with our finest china. I even bought that designer tie Thomas had eyed months ago—the one he pretended he didn’t want, but I knew he did.
And then?
I stood there, in my favorite dress, candles flickering, heart full…
And my phone rang.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Thomas said, his voice way too casual. “I’m already halfway to the airport.”
I froze. “What airport?”
“Emergency meeting. Big clients. You know how it is.”
I closed my eyes. Breathed in. Breathed out.
“Thomas. Today is our anniversary.”
“I know, I know! And I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”
Make it up to me.
I looked at the table—the candles, the wine, the stupid duck I’d spent hours on—and my stomach twisted.
“Right. Safe flight,” I muttered.
“Love you!”
I hung up, fighting the urge to scream.
Fine. If he was going to ditch me, I wasn’t going to waste the night sulking. I ran a bath, poured in the fancy bubbles, and sank into the warmth, determined to relax.
And then—the doorbell rang.
I groaned, wrapped a towel around myself, and stomped to the door. A delivery guy stood there, holding a sleek white box tied with a red ribbon.
“Anna?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Special delivery,” he said, handing it over.
“Who’s it from?”
“Anonymous order. Enjoy!”
I shut the door, staring at the box.
My heart skipped.
Did Thomas send a surprise?
I loved surprises.
Grinning, I untied the ribbon and lifted the lid.
The smell of buttercream hit me first—sweet, rich, delicious.
And then I saw the message scrawled across the top in gold lettering:
“IT’S TIME TO GET DIVORCED!”
My stomach dropped.
What. The. Hell.
A joke? A mistake? Some sick prank?
Then I spotted the little card tucked under the cake.
“Hope you take this as well as he did. XOXO.”
My hands shook.
Who sent this?
And then—my phone rang again.
Gloria. My mother-in-law.
I answered, forcing my voice steady.
“Anna, darling! Happy anniversary!” she chirped.
“Thanks,” I said weakly.
“So? How do you like the ring?”
My blood turned to ice.
Because Thomas hadn’t given me a ring.
He always gave me gifts in the morning. Always.
But today? Nothing.
“Oh… it’s beautiful,” I lied.
“Such a shame Thomas had to leave today,” Gloria sighed. “But what a perfect opportunity for a surprise!”
“A surprise?”
“Of course! He told me he’s staying at—” She giggled. “—the same hotel you two stayed at last year! So romantic. You should go surprise him!”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
The cake. The note. The ring I never got.
This wasn’t a coincidence.
Was Thomas cheating on me?
“That’s a great idea, Gloria,” I said sweetly. “I’ll book a flight right now.”
“Oh, how exciting! Tell me all about it later!”
“Oh, I will,” I promised, staring at the cake.
I hung up.
For a long moment, I just stood there, staring at the flickering candles, the ruined dinner, the divorce cake mocking me.
Then—I grabbed my purse and booked the next flight out.
The Confrontation
I barely made it to the gate in time, sprinting through the airport like a woman possessed. My mind raced faster than my feet.
What if I’m wrong? What if I’m about to destroy everything?
But the cake. The note. Gloria’s too-cheerful voice.
Something was very wrong.
By the time I landed, my legs were jelly, but adrenaline kept me moving. I marched up to the front desk, flashed my best “I’m a devastated wife” look, and got the room number in seconds.
Room 614.
My heart pounded as I stood outside the door.
Deep breath.
I knocked.
The door swung open—and my stomach dropped.
A gorgeous brunette stood there, draped in a silk dress that probably cost more than my rent. Behind her, on the bed, was Thomas’s suit.
She smirked, leaning against the doorframe like she’d been waiting for me.
“Thomas is in the shower,” she purred. “I’ll let him know you stopped by.”
I clenched my fists.
“That won’t be necessary.”
*”Oh? Don’t want to *disturb* him?”*
“Something like that,” I said, shifting the cake box in my hands.
She tilted her head. “You look tense. Maybe you should get a massage.”
“Thanks for the suggestion,” I said sweetly. *”But I brought my *own* stress relief.”*
And with one swift motion—
SMACK.
I smashed the cake right into her smug little face.
Buttercream exploded everywhere.
She shrieked, stumbling back, hands clawing at her frosting-covered hair.
*”WHAT THE— ARE YOU *INSANE?!” she screeched.
“Maybe,” I admitted, stepping inside.
*”YOU *PSYCHO!” She grabbed a pillow and hurled it at me.
I dodged.
“I was aiming for your dignity, but turns out you didn’t have much to begin with.”
She lunged at me—but her icing-slick heels betrayed her. She went down hard, sprawling onto the carpet in a glorious, frosting-covered mess.
I stepped over her.
“Don’t forget to send me the dry-cleaning bill!”
Then I stormed toward the bathroom, ready to rip Thomas apart—
And froze.
Because standing there, wrapped in a plush robe, sipping champagne like she owned the place, was Gloria.
My mother-in-law.
She raised her glass in a lazy toast.
“Oh,” she said, smirking. *”You weren’t supposed to burst in. That’s not very… *you, honey.”
“What?”
*”You’re always so… *passive*. I wasn’t expecting *this* side of you.”* Her eyes flicked over my wild hair, my frosting-smeared hands. “Almost impressive for a little nobody like you.”
I ignored the insult.
“Where’s Thomas?”
She sighed, like I was exhausting her.
“At another hotel. What kind of man leaves his wife alone on their anniversary? I saw an opportunity and took it.”
My blood boiled.
*”Opportunity for *what?”
Gloria rolled her eyes.
“To get rid of you, sweetheart.”
“The cake…” I breathed.
She laughed. “Oh, I baked it myself! Did you like it?”
*”But *why?”
*”Because you were *never* good enough for my son. But Alicia—”* She gestured to the frosting-covered disaster on the floor. *”—now, *she’s* perfect. A model. Beautiful. Well-connected. You’ve met now… how delightful!”*
I clenched my jaw.
*”Thomas *loves* me. You won’t break us apart.”*
“Oh, it’ll be harder now,” Gloria mused. “But don’t worry. I play the long game.”
I pulled out my phone and held it up.
Gloria’s smirk faltered.
“Oops,” I said, tapping the screen. *”Did I forget to mention? I called Thomas the *second* I walked in here. And when I realized that suit wasn’t his? I left the line open.”*
Her face went pale.
I hit speakerphone.
Thomas’s voice boomed through the room.
*”Mom, I can’t *believe* you! What the hell is wrong with you?!”* His voice was pure fury. “Anna, I’m on my way. Wait in the lobby.”
Gloria’s perfect plan? Shattered.
“Enjoy your evening,” I purred, heading for the door.
I paused, glancing back at Alicia—still flailing in frosting—then at Gloria.
“Oh, and Gloria?” I added. *”Thanks for the cake. It looks *amazing* on Alicia’s face.”*
And with that, I walked out like I’d just won the damn Oscars.
The Aftermath
I stood in the lobby, a mess of smeared makeup and frosting, but I’d never felt more powerful.
The elevator dinged. Thomas rushed out, breathless, his face a mix of horror and fury.
“Anna, I—I don’t even know what to say.”
*”Try *‘my mother is a sociopath’* for starters.”*
He ran a hand through his hair. *”I had *no* idea she’d do this.”*
“We’ll talk later,” I said. *”Right now? I’m *starving.”
He exhaled, nodded, and slipped an arm around me as we walked out.
Dinner was quiet. But when dessert came, Thomas reached into his pocket—and pulled out a velvet box.
I froze.
“Is this… from your mother?”
He laughed. *”No. *This* is from me.”*
Inside was a stunning ring.
“My real gift is at home,” he admitted.
I smirked. “Is it another cake?”
*”No. But if I *ever* skip our anniversary again? Then yes. And it won’t have frosting.”*
I laughed, slipping the ring on.
That night, we celebrated. It wasn’t perfect.
But it was ours.
And Gloria?
She’d messed with the wrong wife.