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.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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