I Died On My Last Birthday
Language: en
The moment Miranda Simon smashed my birthday cake, I realized our five-year marriage was nothing more than a well-rehearsed punchline. The cake—a custom order my family had sent over—lay in a heap on the hardwood floor. Vanilla sponge and fresh strawberries were smeared across the grain like a crime scene. Miranda didn’t look at the mess. She didn’t look at me with anything but a cold, sharpened edge of resentment. “Did you seriously forget what day it is?” she asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous low. “It’s the anniversary of Beck’s mother’s passing. And you’re standing here worried…