In the center of a table surrounded by 990 roses sat a small, elegant box.
Inside was the diamond ring I had once longed for.
I remembered how, when we got married, Ethan couldn’t afford a real ring.
He bought a fake one for ten dollars on Amazon and slid it onto my finger, looking deeply into my eyes.
“Sophia, this ring is fake, but my love for you is real.
Thank you for marrying a poor man like me. I promise I’ll buy you a real one just like it someday.”
I still have that fake ring.
I thought he had simply forgotten.
But now that real ring had shown up in another woman’s photo.
He hadn’t forgotten—he just never intended to give it to me.
The caption under the post read:
“I made a huge mistake giving the wrong medication today, but my dear Dr. Walker took all the blame for me.
If it weren’t for him, my career in medicine would have been over.
But misfortune turned into blessing—I got a love confession tonight!
I can never repay you, so I’ll just let you hold me whenever you want, for the rest of my life .”
I laughed coldly and gave it a “like.”
Screenshot. Saved.
Another piece of evidence secured.
Then I sent the divorce papers to Ethan.
“Look them over and sign them when you get home.”