On our first anniversary, I dressed up and set the perfect table, excited to celebrate with my husband, Thomas. But he called, saying he had to leave for a

last-minute business trip. I was disappointed, but things got worse—soon after, a cake arrived with golden lettering: “It’s time to get divorced!” Inside was

a card: “Hope you take this as well as he did. XOXO.” Confused and heartbroken, I got a call from my mother-in-law, Gloria, who suspiciously mentioned a

surprise and encouraged me to visit the hotel where Thomas was supposedly staying. I booked a flight and went. At the hotel room, a woman answered the door,

wearing nothing but confidence. She said Thomas was in the shower, but his clothes weren’t even his. That’s when I knew. Then Gloria appeared—sipping wine and

casually revealing it was *her* plan. She had sent the cake, arranged everything, and wanted to replace me with this new woman, Alicia, whom she considered a

better match for her son. But what she didn’t know? I had called Thomas as soon as I entered the room and left the call open. He heard everything. Furious, he

told me to wait in the lobby—he was on his way. That night over dinner, he apologized and gave me a ring—*his* ring, not his mother’s.

We both knew one thing for sure: if he ever ditched me on our anniversary again, the next cake *definitely* wouldn’t have frosting