All I wanted was strawberries for scones. What I got was irrefutable proof my husband was a thief.
There was no mistaking those earrings—the unique floral engraving matched my mother’s antique set exactly. When neighbor Lana called them a “special gift,” my blood ran cold. Days earlier, I’d wept over the empty heirloom box Nolan swore he hadn’t touched.
Our daughter’s accidental confession broke me: he’d bribed her to stay silent. The pawnshop receipt led me to most pieces, but facing Lana was the hardest part. To her credit, she returned the earrings immediately, whispering, “If he could do this to you, he was never really mine either.”
Now when Nolan calls begging for reconciliation, I let the silence speak. Some losses are permanent—like trust, like the marriage he destroyed over trinkets he never valued until they cost him everything.
