That morning, I went to the store to get eggs, chicken thighs, and strawberries. It might seem like an odd mix, but each one had a purpose. The eggs were for breakfast, the chicken was for dinner, and the strawberries were for the white chocolate-strawberry scones that my husband loved.
When I came in, I thought it would be a calm trip to the store. I left with a truth I didn’t know I needed.
She was in the dairy aisle next door. Young, brown-haired, and recently single. Lana was her name. She looked at the Greek yogurt like she had all the time in the world and no problems. And maybe she didn’t.
My mom’s old cufflinks were hanging from her ears, but they were now earrings.
I couldn’t breathe. My stomach hurt and twisted. I held the basket tightly till my fingertips turned white.
No. That couldn’t be.
As I got closer to her, I made my voice sound light.
“Lana! Those earrings are beautiful.
She smiled and lightly stroked them with her fingers, as if they were worth a lot. They were.
“Thanks, Celia!” She said, “A gift from someone special.”
A present. From a “special” person.
The globe skewed a little. I swallowed the fire that was in my throat. Did she know? Did she know they weren’t his to give?
“Really
She blinked in surprise.
“I wish!” That would be great. No, it’s just the earrings. But maybe my particular someone will finish the set.
That was all.
Nolan didn’t only sell my mother’s valuable things.
He had given them to his mistress.
He had made all the plans.
Not me.
I found the heritage box a few days ago while I was cleaning under the bed. I was trapped in the mind-numbing pattern of tasks and a jingle that wouldn’t leave my head. But when I saw it, something made me halt.
There
I opened it three times to make sure I wasn’t going crazy.
But no, my mother’s things were gone. The ones he gave me before he died. The ones I was going to give to our son someday.
Nolan was the only one who knew where that box was.
“Nolan!” I marched into the living room where he was sitting with his laptop.
He hardly looked up. “What, Celia?” Can’t it wait?”
“Did you steal my mom’s jewelry?”
He blinked and frowned.
“No.” Could it be that the kids were playing with it? You know how much they like to pretend.
My stomach got tighter. Our kids weren’t even aware there was a box.
I still looked. I knelt down in front of our three kids in the playroom.
“Liam, Mia, Jules—Did any of you take something from under Mommy and Daddy’s bed?
They all said, “No, Mommy.”
But Jules, my oldest child, my wonderful, honest nine-year-old, stopped.
She said, “I saw Daddy take it.” “He said it was a secret,” and that if I didn’t say anything, he would bring me a new dollhouse.
A part of me broke.
I stayed there for a long time, struggling to breathe as the kids kept playing.
I finally faced Nolan again.
“I know you took them.” “Where are they?”
He moaned a lot and rubbed his temple.
“Okay. Yes, I did take them.
“Why?”
He talked in that annoying, pompous way that I had come to despise.
“You’ve been a mess since your dad died. I thought a trip could make you feel better, so… I sold them. I made plans for our trip.
I stopped moving. “You sold my mother’s heirlooms?” The last things I had of him?
He yelled, “We’re barely getting by, Celia.” “You don’t want to work, and I’m in charge of everything.” I was attempting to help the family.
I whispered. “Where are they?”
He rolled his eyes. “Calm down. I will call off the trip. That’s fine if you want to be miserable.” I tried.”
He thought I was the issue.
I turned around and went away so I wouldn’t do something I’d regret.
The next day, I made French toast for Nolan and pancakes for the kids. I acted like a peaceful, loving wife. But I was on fire within.
He said, “It’s nice to see you smile again.” “I missed that.”
I wanted to hit him.
I asked for the receipt from the pawn store instead.
He complained but gave it to her.
I said softly, “Jules, do you want to go on an adventure with Mommy?” We’re going to get Grandpa’s stuff back.
She nodded with pure joy.
It wasn’t hard to find the pawn store. The clerk looked at me sternly, but then he softened when he saw how upset I was.
“I responded, ‘They were my mother’s.'” “Please.” I don’t have anyone else.
He thought about it for a moment. Then they nodded.
I took the ring and watch with me. Still, the earrings were missing.
I knew where they were.
That afternoon, I knocked on Lana’s door. I held up my mother’s will—his handwritten note saying that the heirlooms would go to me—when she replied. I showed her a picture of him from their wedding day when he was wearing the first pair.
I answered, “These are family heirlooms.” “They were mine.” He didn’t have the right to give them away.
She looked sad. She stared at the picture. At me.
“Oh my God…” “I didn’t know,” she said quietly. “I thought… I felt that was a nice present. I didn’t realize they were from your mom. “I’m so, so sorry.”
Then, without saying another word, she went inside and came back with the earrings.
She said, “These aren’t mine.” “Honestly, Nolan doesn’t either.”
She turned her head. “If it was this easy for him to do this, maybe he never really belonged to either of us.”
I nodded. “I know.” Thanks.
After that, I left.
I took the divorce papers to Nolan’s office when they were all signed. In person. In front of his coworkers.
I said quietly, “You stole from me.” “You let me down. You gave my mother’s heirlooms to the person you were cheating with. “That was the last mistake you’ll ever make in our marriage.”
He was speechless, holding the documents in his weak hands.
Of course, he begged after that. Cried. Begged.
But I was finished.
He had taken more than just jewelry. He had taken away my trust, my dignity, and my relationship with the only parent I had left.
And what now?
He has to pay alimony, child support, and court orders.
Me? I have my mother’s heirlooms back.
I have my children.
And finally, I have peace.
