Wife Uncovers Husband's Lies

Three days passed without a word from Stone. Three days of silence while my comment sat there beneath Scarlet's Iceland photos, accumulating likes and sympathetic responses from strangers. Three days of twisting my mother's ring around my finger, a nervous habit that had intensified since seeing those emails.

When the front door finally slammed open, I knew from the force alone that Stone had seen what I'd done.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He stormed into the kitchen where I was mechanically preparing dinner. His face was flushed, hair disheveled from the flight. "Do you have any idea how embarrassing that was?"

I set down the knife I'd been using to chop vegetables. "Embarrassing for whom, exactly?"

"For me! For Scarlet!" Stone threw his hands up. "She had to delete the entire post because of your petty comment."

"My petty comment." I repeated the words slowly, testing their weight. "About my husband taking his ex-girlfriend to Iceland on our anniversary. While buying her a fifteen-thousand-dollar necklace."

"You're making assumptions." His voice dropped dangerously. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like, Stone?" I leaned against the counter, suddenly exhausted. "Please, explain to me what it's like to sit alone in a restaurant for two hours while your husband is with another woman."

"It was a business trip that happened to fall on—"

"Don't." The word came out sharper than I'd intended. "Just don't lie to me anymore."

He ran a hand through his hair, exasperation replacing anger. "You need to apologize to Scarlet."

The request was so absurd I almost laughed. "Apologize?"

"Yes. She's very upset."

"I'm devastated," I countered, "but I notice that doesn't seem to concern you."

Before Stone could respond, the doorbell rang. He checked his watch, a flicker of something—guilt? anxiety?—crossing his face.

"Are you expecting someone?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.

He didn't reply, just moved toward the door with a resignation that told me everything. When he returned to the kitchen, Scarlet Cooper followed like a shadow.

She was wearing the necklace. The diamonds caught the afternoon light streaming through our kitchen windows, throwing prismatic reflections across the walls. Her designer bag—another gift from Stone, I recognized it from the credit card statement—hung casually from her arm.

"Ariyah," she said, her voice syrupy with false concern. "I thought we should clear the air."

I stared at her, then at Stone, who wouldn't meet my eyes. "In my home?"

"I'll make tea," Stone muttered, moving toward the kettle.

"Don't bother," I said, but he was already filling it, playing host while I stood frozen.

Scarlet settled herself at our kitchen island as if she belonged there, her manicured fingers tracing patterns on the marble countertop. "I feel terrible about this misunderstanding."

"Which misunderstanding would that be?" I asked. "The one where my husband took you to Iceland instead of celebrating our anniversary? Or the one where he bought you diamonds with our joint account?"

"Stone and I have a long history," she said, as if that explained everything. "Sometimes old friends help each other through difficult times."

I removed my mother's ring and set it on the coffee table, needing to feel my bare skin against the cool surface, to ground myself. "And what difficult time was this, exactly?"

Scarlet's eyes followed the movement, lingering on the ring. "May I see that? It's stunning."

Before I could object, she reached across and picked it up, turning it in her hands as Stone set cups of tea before us.

"Be careful with that," I said sharply. "It was my mother's."

"It's gorgeous," she murmured, slipping it onto her own finger. "Look how it catches the light."

I extended my hand. "Give it back, please."

She smiled, sliding it off and holding it up. "The craftsmanship is remarkable. What is it worth?"

"It's priceless to me," I said coldly. "It's the only thing I have left of my mother."

Scarlet nodded, seeming to consider this as she examined the ring one last time. Then, with a movement so smooth it seemed choreographed, she set it down on the table and shifted her designer bag over it.

When she lifted her bag moments later to reach for her tea, the ring was gone.