The Velvet Box And The Hidden Truth

It started with a credit card statement I wasn’t meant to see—$1,200 at a jewelry store I didn’t recognize. My birthday had passed. Our anniversary was months away. I tucked the detail into the quiet part of my mind where suspicions go to wait.

Then came the late nights. Traffic, meetings, excuses. And a perfume I didn’t wear. I watched. I waited. Until one evening, he walked through the door with a small velvet box. I stood in the kitchen, rehearsing my smile. But he didn’t stop. He handed the box to our daughter.

“For your audition,” he said. “Confidence.”

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