I had spent hours preparing for our fifth wedding anniversary — cooking David’s favorite meal, setting the table just right, and even picking a dress I knew he loved. The house smelled of spices and roasted chicken. I felt hopeful and excited. When David finally walked in, I called out, “David, you’re home!” But instead of a smile, I got a cold stare. “What are you wearing? You look fat,” he sneered, his words cutting deeper than I could bear.

I whispered, “It’s our anniversary… did you forget?” He snapped back, pulling out an envelope — divorce papers. My heart shattered. “I hate you,” he said, eyes full of disgust. “You’re not the woman I married.” I begged him to stay, to work things out, but he was already packing, admitting with a cruel grin, “Jessica’s waiting in the car — my secretary, the future I deserve.”

For weeks I was lost, burning old memories, trying to piece together my broken heart. Then my best friend Veronica dragged me out of my misery and pushed me to try dating again. That’s when I met Robert — kind, patient, and genuine. His simple “Hi, you look gorgeous” felt like a breath of fresh air. We connected, laughed, and before long, he asked me to marry him. The night I was getting ready for our first date, David showed up, bitter and defeated. “Signed the papers yet?” he sneered.