My husband had never been thoughtful with gifts. No flowers, no birthday surprises, not even a simple card. For years, I convinced myself that Simon simply wasn’t romantic.
I cooked his meals, washed his clothes, and kept our home running while he barely noticed. That Christmas, I hoped things might finally be different.
But evening turned into night, and Simon still hadn’t returned. When I called, he answered angrily.
“I’m busy! Can’t you leave me alone for once?”
The call ended before I could respond. I sat beside the Christmas tree, crying and wondering why I had accepted so little for so long.
Then I noticed a small silver box beneath the branches. I had wrapped every present myself, and that box definitely hadn’t been there earlier.
Inside was a beautiful diamond necklace. For one brief second, my heart lifted—until I saw the card.
“To Claire. This Christmas is only the beginning of our new life.”
Claire was Simon’s assistant.
My hands went numb. I grabbed my coat and rushed outside, but Simon’s car pulled into the driveway before I reached the gate.
He stepped out carrying two suitcases. Claire was sitting in the passenger seat.
Simon stared at the open box in my hand and whispered, “You weren’t supposed to find that.”
I didn’t scream or beg. I simply handed him the necklace and said, “Then take your gift—and your lies—with you.”
That Christmas, I lost my marriage, but finally found my self-respect.
