“Please. Can we talk?”
I stopped.
“Fine. How long?”
He looked toward Megan.
“Four months.”
She began crying.
“It wasn’t supposed to happen.”
I stared at her.
“You used my name to deceive your husband.”
She lowered her eyes.
Ryan stepped forward.
“We made mistakes.”
“A mistake is forgetting an anniversary,” I replied. “Four months of dishonesty requires planning.”
Neither answered.
Megan whispered, “Could we discuss this somewhere private?”
I almost smiled.
“Now privacy matters to you?”
Then I turned away and arranged transportation to the hospital.
Thankfully, Mom was recovering.
Her dizziness had been related to dehydration and a medication issue. Doctors wanted to adjust her prescription and observe her overnight.
When she saw me, she frowned.
“Kylie, why do you look more exhausted than I do?”
“Long flight.”
She studied me.
“Try again.”
So I told her everything.
She listened quietly, holding my hand.
When I finished, she hugged me.
Then she asked something unexpected.
“Did you at least make him uncomfortable?”
I couldn’t help laughing.
“Mom!”
“I’m seventy-four, sweetheart. I still appreciate a little
justice.”
When I explained the jewelry box, she laughed so hard that a nurse came to check on us.
“Everything okay?”
Mom wiped her eyes.
“Perfectly fine. My daughter just returned two defective gifts!”
The next morning, Dawson called.
Megan had returned home early and admitted the relationship.
Apparently, she’d used my name as an excuse for several trips.
Then he asked about the jewelry box.
“What exactly did you send them?”
“Two bracelets.”
I explained the engravings.
Sisters Before Misters.
Forever Yours.
Then I told him what I’d written in the note.
Dear Megan,
Since you’ve been borrowing my husband, I thought you might as well have the jewelry, too.
One bracelet represented our friendship.
The other represented my marriage.
Apparently, neither promise meant what I believed it did.
Love, Kylie.
Dawson was silent.
Then he laughed sadly.
“She told me that box made her realize she’d lost you
forever.”
I looked at my empty wrist.
“She did.”
