Amber didn't wait for further humiliation. On her way out, she dumped the uneaten cake into a trash bin. The act felt like a small victory, though it did little to ease the sting of her humiliation.
Back at home, the mansion was silent. Florence greeted her hesitantly, sensing the storm brewing in Amber's expression. Amber walked past her without a word, heading straight to the kitchen.
The vegetables she had painstakingly prepped for their anniversary dinner were still waiting on the counter. With methodical precision, she began packing everything back into their containers, her movements eerily calm.
"Mrs. Amber, should I finish preparing dinner?" Florence asked tentatively.
Amber didn't answer right away. She stared at the ingredients, her fingers brushing the cool surface of the cutting board. Finally, she shook her head.
"No, Florence. There's no need."
Florence nodded, sensing it was best not to press.
Upstairs, Amber opened her wardrobe and pulled out three large cardboard boxes. She placed them on the bed, her mind clear for the first time in weeks. She wasn't just packing her belongings—she was erasing every trace of herself from this house.