The day before Christmas, everything seemed perfect until it wasn’t. I found a receipt for a stunning necklace, signed by my husband, hidden in my sister’s coat. Was it a gift or something far worse?
The day before Christmas was a rare and special occasion. My mother, who never seemed to have a spare moment away from her demanding job, had miraculously freed up her schedule to host the family dinner. She bustled around the house, beaming yet still sneaking glances at her phone.
“Mark?” my sister Sofia asked, stirring something on the stove. “Of course,” my mom replied.
“He’s handling some business for me first, but then he’s free to explore. I told him, ‘You’re a single man—use this trip to meet someone.’”
She laughed as if matchmaking her assistant was the most natural thing in the world. Max, my husband, glanced up from where he was stringing lights around the windows.
“Do you ever give anyone a real vacation, Anne?”
“Not when there’s work to be done,” Mom shot back playfully. The house buzzed with activity. My grandmother sat by the kitchen table, peeling oranges for mulled wine, her sharp eyes observing everything.
“We’re out of cinnamon,” she announced abruptly, waving a wooden spoon in my direction. “You can’t make good mulled wine without cinnamon.”
I sighed, wiping my hands on a dishtowel. “Fine, I’ll run to the store.”
“I can go,” Max offered.
On my way out, I grabbed a coat from the hook by the door—Sofia’s oversized camel-colored one.
Her dramatic scarf hung next to it, a perfect match for her signature style. “Lucy,” Sofia called from the stove, “you better not lose my coat!”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s just a coat, Sofia.
Relax.”
As I slid my hands into the deep pockets, my fingers brushed against something crinkly. I froze, pulled it out, and found myself holding a folded receipt. Curious, I opened it.
A necklace. Luxurious, judging by the price. The date on the receipt made me pause.
The story doesn’t end here — it continues on the next page.
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