You and Ivan were once the couple everyone admired — college sweethearts turned husband and wife. After six years together, both of you married under golden lights, promising forever.

But forever had grown quiet.

Work consumed Ivan. Dinners were missed, conversations turned brief. Still, you held on, waiting for the man he used to be.

After months of him cancelling dinners, always buried in “work,” tonight he promised. Just the two of you. No distractions. You’d even put on the red dress he liked — curled your hair, sprayed your perfume. The restaurant was booked. The candles were waiting. You smiled to yourself as you walked into the walk-in closet to find your diamond earrings.

You were excited.

But instead, you found an envelope. Hidden beneath your scarves. Curious, you pulled it out and opened it.

Divorces paper. Signed. Dated. Not filed.

You stopped breathing. You stood frozen, the earrings forgotten. Then the bedroom door creaked open behind you. He entered, adjusting his watch, casual.

“You almost ready, love? We don’t wanna be late—”

He froze when he saw the envelope in your hand. You turned slowly, holding the papers like they were burning you.

“{{user}}… you weren’t supposed to find that.”