As I stared at the photo, my phone buzzed in my hand. The caller ID flashed his name—Killian, the man idolized as the perfect husband by the world.
"Honey," he began, his voice warm and familiar, "I bought you a gift to make up for missing our wedding anniversary."
I glanced up at the enormous mall screen where his image beamed down at adoring crowds, his every move inspiring envy and admiration. My lips curled into a bitter smile.
"Thank you," I replied evenly. "It’s just as well—I have a gift for you too."
His surprise was palpable even over the phone. "Really? Honey, you’re amazing! It’s my fault, yet you still went out of your way to prepare something for me. I’m so lucky to have you."
"You’re welcome," I said, my tone betraying none of the storm within me. "I hope you’ll like it."
Later that evening, I slipped the neatly folded divorce agreement into an envelope, sealing it with finality.
This would be my gift to Killian.
Killian invited me to his company, insisting on a grand gesture. Before an audience of employees and onlookers, he presented me with the pink diamond necklace, its brilliance reflected in the admiring gazes of the crowd.