That day marked the second anniversary of my marriage to Theodore Jenkins. It was also the first anniversary of his relationship with Janice Schaeffer.
Janice was Theodore’s assistant—a fresh college graduate exuding youthful energy. She was exactly the kind of woman Theodore liked. From our first year of marriage, she had been by his side, accompanying him to various events and functions.
Some uninformed friends had even addressed her as Mrs. Jenkins. Gradually, her presence beside him grew more frequent. It was as if she had completely replaced my existence.
I first met her on Theodore’s birthday. I had been in the kitchen, as usual, making a cake for the occasion. As soon as the oven chimed, signaling that the cake was ready, I felt the world around me shift.
When I regained consciousness, I found myself standing in the middle of traffic. My white pants were covered in mud, and my bare feet were cut by glass. In a panic, I rushed to the hospital for a full examination.
The doctor broke the devastating news—I only had three months left to live. The silver lining was that this condition would not cause me any pain. However, it would result in dementia, wiping away all the painful memories in the process—a bittersweet blessing in disguise.
When I returned home, the cake in the oven was already burnt. I took a deep breath, baked a new one, and brought it to Theodore’s office.
Back then, Janice had just started her internship at the company. Theodore was in a meeting, so I waited for him in the lounge.
Janice kept coming in and out, scrutinizing me each time. The glass walls were not soundproof, and I could hear her whispering to others.
