I never imagined I’d settle for less, but fourteen years with James taught me otherwise.
On our anniversary, he surprised me with a dinner at the upscale restaurant from our honeymoon. I hoped for something special, but he handed me a box containing a stainless-steel utensil set—again. I smiled, masking my disappointment.
While he stepped away, the waiter placed a salad in front of me, whispering, “Don’t eat it. There’s a surprise inside from your husband.” I found a diamond ring nestled among the greens. Tears welled up; he finally did it.
But when James returned, his face drained of color. “Where did you get that?” he demanded. The waiter revealed, “That ring wasn’t meant for you. It’s the one James gave my girlfriend.” I was stunned.
The waiter continued, “And she wasn’t the only one.” James’ silence confirmed the truth.
I asked, “Who is she?” The waiter answered, “Chloe. She works at a boutique downtown.” James had been careless, and I had been blind.
I confronted him, but he only offered excuses. I couldn’t accept it anymore. With a calmness I didn’t feel, I dumped the salad—and the ring—into his lap.
As I walked out, the cool night air felt like freedom. I didn’t know what the future held, but I knew I was finally free.