Rachel treasures the heirloom jewelry her late mother left her, until one day she finds the box empty. With a confession from her husband, Rachel realizes that’s only half the truth. When she spots her mother’s earrings on another woman, all the puzzle pieces connect…
Now
I went to the store that morning for milk, chicken, and raspberries. An odd combination, but it was what I needed. The milk for coffee and cereal, the chicken for tonight’s dinner, and the raspberries for the raspberry and white chocolate muffins my husband loved.
I went into the store hoping to get my groceries, but I left with a truth that I didn’t know needed to be revealed. She was standing in the dairy aisle, our neighbor. Young, blonde, and recently divorced.
She was looking at the various yogurt options, smiling like she didn’t have a care in the world. And if I’m being honest, she probably didn’t have any cares. And hanging from her ears were my mother’s earrings.
My breath caught in my throat. A sick feeling curled in my stomach. My hands clenched around the shopping basket so tightly that I was sure they were white.
No. No bloody way. I forced my voice to stay light and breezy as I approached her.
“Mel, hi! Lovely earrings!”
She beamed, touching them delicately as if they were the most priceless things in the world. They were.
“Oh, thank you, Rachel! They’re a gift from someone special, you know.”
A gift. From someone special.
Someone married? The world tilted slightly. I swallowed the burning rage rising in my throat.
Mel looked at me for a moment, and I wondered if the guilt was eating at her. She didn’t act like it, but something had dimmed her shine in that moment. “Oh, they’re simply beautiful,” I said, smiling through my gritted teeth.
“But didn’t it come with a pendant and a bracelet? What a stunning set that would be…”
She blinked at me, confusion all over her face. “I definitely would if I had those pieces.
But I don’t. It’s just the earrings. But maybe my special someone can gift me the whole set.”
The ground steadied beneath me.
There it was. Derek hadn’t just pawned my mother’s jewelry. He had gifted part of it to his mistress.
It was a selfish, well-thought-out plan. Except he hadn’t planned on one thing. Me.
Then
I had been vacuuming under the bed, lost in the monotony of housework and a nagging nursery rhyme that was stuck in my head, when I spotted the box. Something made me pause. Maybe it was instinct.
Or maybe grief had sharpened my senses. I bent down, picked it up, and opened the lid. Empty.
The box with my most prized possessions was empty. The air left my lungs. The annoying nursery rhyme flew out of my head.
And just like that, the shock hit me across my face. My hands trembled as I stood up, my knees weak. I scanned my bedroom like the earrings, pendant, and bracelet might miraculously reappear before my eyes.
But they didn’t. Of course, they didn’t. Wishful thinking didn’t work like that.
There was only one person who I had shown the box and the priceless things inside. But would Derek… Was he actually capable of taking my things?
Maybe he had put them away, knowing the importance that they held. Maybe he had put them into our safe deposit box at the bank. But even if he did, why on earth wouldn’t he tell me?
“Derek!” I stormed into the living room, where he was lounging with his laptop. He barely glanced up. “What, Rachel?
It’s too early for this noise.”
“My mother’s jewelry. Did you take it?”
His brow furrowed like he was truly thinking. “No, maybe the kids took it.
You know they’re into dressing up now.”
My stomach twisted again. Why would my children take something from my room? They probably didn’t even know about the box.
And I was planning on passing down the jewelry to the girls anyway. But still, kids have keen eyes. Maybe one of them saw something.
I turned and marched straight to the playroom, where my three kids were sprawled on the floor, lost in their toys. “Nora, Eli, Ava,” I said, almost breathless. “Did any of you take the box from under my bed?”
Three pairs of wide, innocent eyes blinked up at me.
“No, Mommy.”
But Nora hesitated. My eight-year-old, my oldest baby. The most sensitive and honest of the three, and the one most likely to give you a snuggle when you needed it.
She would tell me what she knew. “I saw Daddy with it,” she said. “He said it was a secret.
And that he would buy me a new dollhouse if I didn’t say anything.”
A sharp rage sliced through me. Someone had stolen from me. And that someone was my husband.
I spent a long time with the kids, trying to figure out my thoughts and feelings while they played. Eventually, I had no choice but to confront him. “Derek, I know you took it.
Where is it?” I asked. He let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples like I was the problem here. “Fine, Rachel.
I took them.”
I blinked slowly. “Why?” I asked simply. His voice took on that tone of his that I absolutely hated.
The slow, condescending tone that had always made my skin crawl. “You were so sad after your mom died. I thought that a vacation would cheer you up, Rachel.” He picked up his beer can and took a long gulp.
“So, I pawned them and bought us a trip.”
My fists curled. My vision blurred. I was…
beyond shocked. “You pawned my mother’s jewelry?! My dead mother’s things!”
“Rachel, we’re struggling!
How can you not see it? Or do you choose to ignore it? The mortgage, the bills…
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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