Test
It was supposed to be just another boring Sunday. Sheets in the wash, vacuum humming in the background, and me on my knees looking for my phone charger that always somehow slips behind the nightstand.
That’s when I saw it.
A delicate gold earring with a tiny green stone. Definitely not mine. I don’t even own anything that subtle — my taste is bold, chunky, loud.
I picked it up and stared at it for a good ten seconds. It felt heavier than it should, like it carried weight I couldn’t explain yet.
My first thought? Maybe it belonged to his sister.
My second? Maybe it belonged to her.
I placed it on his pillow without saying a word. Said nothing all day. Not when he brought me coffee, not when he asked if I wanted to order sushi, not even when he kissed my cheek goodnight.
But the next morning, when he saw it… his whole body stiffened.
“Where did you find this?”
“Under our bed,” I said. “Just beside my dignity.”
He didn’t deny it. Didn’t even try.
Instead, he said: “It didn’t mean anything.”
I almost laughed. They always say that. It’s the script.
“You brought her into our bed,” I whispered. “Where I sleep. Where I love you.”
He opened his mouth, probably to say sorry, but I raised a hand.
“I’m not going to scream,” I said. “I’m going to pack.”
And I did.
Two days later, I left him the apartment — and the earring — in a small box on the coffee table with a note:
“If you’re going to betray someone, at least clean up better next time.”
I walked out with my head high and my heart intact. He didn’t just lose me.
He lost the version of me that trusted him.
Test
