Love's Last Dance in the Typhoon

It was my 30th birthday, and my husband said he had a surprise for me.

However, on the day of my birthday, he was nowhere to be found.

I called him countless times, but no one answered. Just as I was about to panic and consider calling the police, I happened to see a post on the social media feed of his female secretary.

“A typhoon hit, and my boss was worried about my safety, so he personally took me home. How wonderful! I’ve got a guardian angel for myself!”

My anxiety turned to cold calm in an instant. I commented on her post: “Traveling during a typhoon is dangerous. Tell him he doesn’t need to come back.”

Not long after I posted the comment, my husband called. “Kelly, I was only concerned about the safety of my subordinate, and yet you’re thinking such vile thoughts.

“Birthdays come every year. Missing one won’t kill you!”

You were right. Birthdays came every year.

But there was no way I would celebrate them with you.

I hung up in silence as I listened to his reprimand on the other end. Then, alone, I finished the birthday cake for my 30th.

When Casey Lewis finally returned home, he frowned at the sight of the bare room and the empty table.

“Aren’t you celebrating your birthday? Why didn’t you prepare anything?” he asked, irritation creeping into his voice when he saw that there were no decorations in the living room.

I looked up at him with indifference. “Everything suddenly felt meaningless. I don’t feel like celebrating anymore.”

Casey lost his temper. “Are you crazy, Kelly Jones? You called me while I was out and insisted I come home for your birthday. Now that I’m back, you’re telling me you don’t want to celebrate? Are you messing with me?”

I met his gaze, my tone unfeeling. “When did I ever tell you to come home? I said you didn’t need to.”

Casey ignored the detachment in my voice. He sat across from me, continuing his rant.

“How am I supposed to know which of your words to believe? You’re thirty years old, but still clinging to these childish celebrations. I’m always forced to waste my time on whatever you want.”

In the past, I’d put so much effort into decorating the house for our wedding anniversaries and birthdays, carefully preparing a table full of his favorite dishes, all to celebrate together.

Turns out, all that effort was just a waste of his time.

After a moment, he pulled a box out of his bag and tossed it onto the table. “Here. I got you a birthday present. Now stop making such a fuss.”

I opened the box and looked inside. Inside was a scarf—an imported brand-name item—but it was just a free gift offered for customers spending over a hundred thousand at their stores.

Without a word, I threw it straight into the trash.

Casey, seeing what I’d done, kicked the trash can in fury,