The anniversary party was perfect.
Crystal glasses clinked as guests raised their drinks in a cheerful toast. Laughter floated over candlelight. Friends smiled, wine flowed, and for a moment, everything seemed picture-perfect.
James stood beside Olivia — radiant in red, the very image of devotion.
He tapped his glass.
“I just want to say…” he began, voice warm, steady. “That I’ve never been more certain of anything — than the truth.”
Olivia’s smile faltered.
“I’ve learned a lot this year. About love, loyalty, and what it really means to make a toast to someone you think you know.”
He pulled a remote from his jacket pocket. A screen dropped behind them.
Click.
A photo appeared: Olivia and Cole, her coworker, tangled in a kiss outside a hotel bar.
Gasps.
Click. Another photo. Another lie.
Click. A text thread.
Click. A dinner receipt for two — the same night she told James she was working late.
Olivia stepped back. “James, please—”
“No,” he said quietly. “You made your choices. This is mine.”
He lifted his glass one final time.
“To truth. To starting over. And to the kind of toast you only give when the illusions are gone.”
He set the glass down untouched. Around him, the room fell silent. Even the champagne had gone flat.
Without another word, James turned and walked out, leaving behind the toast, the crowd, and the life he thought he knew.