The order showed two names and the number twenty. Selma recognised his name before reading the telephone number. The cake was for the wedding anniversary of the man she had been seeing for nine months. His wife requested simple decoration, a little less sugar, and a dedication to their shared years. Selma stood in the workshop holding ground walnuts while her apprentice waited to hear which tin to prepare.
She knew he was married. She could not offer herself that easier story. He said there had long been no closeness in the marriage, and she had stopped asking questions once the answers became uncomfortable. Now the woman with whom he supposedly shared only an address was choosing lettering for their anniversary. Selma did not know whether that meant a happy marriage. She knew only that accepting the job meant her hands would decorate the lie in which she already participated.
She called him during her break. He said he had not known where his wife ordered the cake and that work should not be mixed with private life. The sentence was so tidy that Selma felt sick. He had already mixed everything; now he had assigned her the duty of appearing professional. She asked him to tell his wife himself by evening. He replied that the moment was wrong. Selma realised the right moment probably did not exist in his schedule.
The next morning she called the customer. First she said she could not make the cake, then explained why. She did not discuss falling in love or how hard this was. The woman remained silent for a long time. Then she asked whether Selma knew he was married. Selma said yes. The conversation ended with a demand to return the payment that day. Selma refunded it and recommended another workshop only when the woman requested one.
He arrived angry, convinced the confession was an attempt to force him to choose Selma. She remained behind the worktable. She said he was not choosing between two cakes and she no longer wanted a place in that schedule. She did not look strong. Her hands shook while she put away the walnuts. The apprentice was in another room and did not have to become an audience to their ending.
Several days later Selma washed the tin she had never used. She received neither forgiveness nor news of what had happened to their marriage. She received silence that this time she did not try to fill with his messages. The next order required only someone's name. She wrote it slowly, careful that no letter extended over the edge.