When Samantha reaches a huge milestone at work, she decides to celebrate the moment by treating herself to something expensive—a pair of diamond earrings. But when she and her husband are with their friends, and Ross takes full credit for it, she wants nothing more than to embarrass him. Will she do it? And more importantly, will she regret it?
I’ve always thought of myself as being an independent woman. Even when I got married to Ross—I knew that I needed to have my own sense of independence in some way. Which is how I threw myself into my career.
A woman wearing a blazer | Source: Pexels
I work for a fashion house, writing content and making our catalogs look great. Recently, work has been going really well, and I received a promotion.
“Well done, Samantha!” my boss gushed. “You’re the person who takes our vision and translates it to the public. It’s a gift.”
Of course, I loved my job so it felt like the biggest reward to be acknowledged for my work.
A woman writing in a notebook | Source: Unsplash
I celebrated my promotion by spoiling myself.
“What do you want to get for yourself?” my work colleague, Carol, asked me during our lunch.
“I don’t know,” I said, drizzling dressing all over my salad. “I don’t own anything incredibly fancy. So, I’m thinking jewelry.”
A plate of salad on a table | Source: Unsplash
Carol and I went to the jewelry store across from the café we had lunch.
“Let’s just look around,” Carol said.
A display at a jewelry store | Source: Unsplash
We walked around the store and I looked through the glass displays, waiting for something to catch my eyes. Which was when I saw them—a pair of exquisite diamond earrings.
“That’s the one,” I said.
The woman behind the display beamed at me.
“This is going to complement your eyes,” she said, putting the earrings into a beautiful velvet box.
A pair of diamond earrings | Source: Pexels
That evening when I got home from work, I took the box out, ready to show Ross the symbol of my hard-earned achievement at work.
“That looks expensive,” Ross said, piling pasta onto plates for us. “Was it?”
“It was,” I agreed. “But I wanted to treat myself. I’ve been working really hard at work, so this is the reward I decided on.”
“You have been,” Ross agreed. “It’s good to spoil yourself sometimes.”
A man in the kitchen | Source: Unsplash
I knew that my husband was trying to be proud of me—but he didn’t like when I was able to spoil myself. He had never actually said it, but it always showed in his reactions.
Later as we got ready for bed, the dim glow of the bedside lamp cast long shadows across the room as I fiddled with the edge of the duvet, avoiding Ross’s gaze.
I felt a sense of tension between us, the air thick with unspoken words.
A woman sitting on the bed | Source: Pexels
Ross had been quiet for the rest of the dinner, his responses clipped, smiles forced. I noticed it, of course, but I didn’t want to draw any attention to his mood. I just felt horrible that Ross felt a certain way about me treating myself.
“Ross,” I said as he got into bed with his laptop in hand. “I know you think these earrings are too much, but it’s just that—”
“No, Sam,” he said. “It’s fine. It’s just that sometimes I feel bad that you have to buy these things for yourself. I feel like I should spoil you, too.”
A man sitting on the bed with his laptop | Source: Pexels
We spoke for a few hours after that, and I tried to reassure my husband that everything was fine—I didn’t want us to get into a fight over something that didn’t need to become one.
We were good. Other than this, Ross and I were absolutely fine.
We spent the rest of the week meeting each other during the work day for coffee. Just to check in with each other during the day.
A couple sitting together and drinking coffee | Source: Pexels
But then, the weekend rolled around and Ross’s behavior shocked me.
We had a group of really good friends that we saw regularly. The whole group tried to meet for drinks or a meal at least every two weeks.
So, this weekend we planned on doing lunch at a new restaurant.
An interior of a restaurant | Source: Unsplash
We all sat around the table, with everyone breaking away to talk about their own things.
“Your earrings are stunning,” our friend, Macy, said. “Where did you get them?”
Before I could reply, Ross began to tell his own story of the earrings.
Women sitting together and laughing | Source: Pexels
“I got them from the store here,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the jewelry store.
“Oh! I’ve seen it,” Macy retorted. “But I haven’t been inside.”
“Yeah, I just felt that Samantha needed to be spoiled a bit. She’s been working so hard lately. So, I surprised her with the earrings and her favorite chocolate,” Ross said.
A box of chocolate | Source: Pexels
There were a few pats on his back from some of the guys. And the ladies gushed over how sweet my husband apparently was.
“Don,” Macy said to her husband. “You could learn a thing or two from Ross.”
I sat there, looking at my cocktail, feeling utterly betrayed. Earlier that week Ross had looked like a sad puppy because I had done something for myself.
And now?
A cocktail with a black straw | Source: Pexels
Here he was, sitting with our friend group and taking advantage of the fact that I had not spoken up and told everyone the truth.
But could I? If I said anything, Ross would be nothing but embarrassed.
“I mean,” he continued. “I was spoiled for choice! There were so many options, but I settled on these because Sam just feels like a diamond girl. They cost a fortune!”
A man sitting and smiling at the camera | Source: Pexels
Our food arrived and I dug into my prawns in silence. I didn’t mind that Ross wanted to be included in the story. But it bugged me that he had taken over it.
The whole reason for these earrings was for me to prove to myself that I was good at my job and worthy of good things—material things that I could provide for myself.
But Ross’s lie gnawed away at me for the entire meal.
Prawns and noodles in a plate | Source: Pexels
As we paid and left the restaurant, I made sure to walk past the jewelry store. I wasn’t going to point it out, but I knew Macy would.
Macy was the type of person that if someone had something fancy, then she would shortly have her own—after persuading her husband to buy it for her.
“Hey!” she exclaimed. “This is the store, right?”
I nodded and allowed myself to be dragged inside the door.
A jewelry store display | Source: Unsplash
“Mrs. Carter,” the woman behind the counter called out. “Back so soon?”
It was as if something came undone in that moment. And I found myself wanting to get back at Ross.
“Yes!” I said. “I wanted to see what else you have. Rings, maybe?”
She beamed and called for Macy and I to meet her at a counter—our husbands were behind us, eyeing the jewelry and the prices attached to it.
“Would I be able to exchange something?” I asked the woman.
A diamond ring display | Source: Pexels
She nodded slowly, eyeing the earrings that I was wearing.
“We do accept returns and exchanges,” she said. “Provided that there’s proof of payment and the quality of the item has not been tarnished in any way.”
“You want to return your earrings?” Macy asked, wrinkling her nose.
“Well, I’m looking at this ring,” I said, pointing to a gorgeous ring in the display. “It’s stunning, but the earrings just won’t go with them.”
A woman holding a diamond ring | Source: Pexels
My husband stepped forward and put his arm around me, while holding onto his wallet.
“But you love the earrings, Sam,” he said. “Why don’t you just keep them and think about it.”
“No,” I said stubbornly. “I think I’d like the ring better.”
“You’ll have to give me your details,” the woman said from behind the counter.
Ross gave his full name—knowing full well that nothing would show up. Because he did not buy my earrings, and I wanted to embarrass him.
A man holding a wallet | Source: Pexels
“I’m sorry, Sir,” she said. “But there are no purchases under your name here.”
“Really?” Ross asked sheepishly. “That’s a problem.”
“I’m so sure it’s under Mrs. Carter’s details,” she continued. “The earrings were purchased on her card.”
My husband’s face turned red in embarrassment. He didn’t meet my eye—knowing that I was upset with how he had downplayed my involvement in the earrings.
A man turned away from the camera | Source: Pexels
“It’s right here,” she said, looking at her computer. “Do you really want to return them, Mrs. Carter? Like I said the day you purchased them, they really suit your eyes.”
In the end, I declined wanting to switch my earrings for the ring. I had no intention of doing so—I just wanted to teach Ross a lesson.
Macy and Don looked at each other, and I knew that they were judging us. But I didn’t care, Macy was a material girl and would forget about the whole thing once Don bought her a pair of earrings, too.
A woman wearing red | Source: Pexels
The car ride home was enveloped in a profound silence.
Ross seemed to shrink beside me, his earlier bravado having dissolved into quiet reflection.
That evening, he shared his insecurities, confessing that his lie was an ill-conceived attempt to share in my accomplishments.
My emotions were mixed—relief at his honesty and acknowledgment of what he had done.
A man sitting on a couch | Source: Pexels
But my relief was also tinged with sorrow—I hated that my husband felt the need to compete.
The next day, Ross left home claiming that he had an errand to run. When he returned, I was reading a book, waiting for him to get back.
“Where have you been?” I asked him.
Ross just smiled at me and handed me a gift box.
A woman reading a book | Source: Pexels
“I’m sorry for dismissing your feelings,” he said. “This is to match your earrings.”
Inside the gift bag was a beautiful diamond necklace.
“I didn’t mean to outshine you,” he confessed. “You earned them by yourself. I just felt guilty that I haven’t been able to spoil you in the way you should be spoiled, Sam.”
The gift was a heartfelt gesture, and while a part of me wanted to return it—I knew that if I did so, I would hurt his feelings even more.
The previous day, when I had wanted to embarrass him—it wasn’t to hurt him. It was just to feel seen.
And after we spoke about it—I think we’re finally on the same page.
A gift box with a bow | Source: Pexels
What would you have done?
MY MOTHER-IN-LAW GOT A KITTEN AT 77 — AM I THE ONLY ONE WHO THINKS THIS IS A TERRIBLE IDEA?
The soft mewling sound echoed through the phone, a high-pitched, insistent cry that sent a fresh wave of frustration through me. “Isn’t she just the sweetest thing, darling?” my mother-in-law, Eleanor, cooed, her voice bubbling with an almost childlike delight.
I clenched my jaw, trying to keep my voice even. “She sounds… energetic,” I managed, picturing the tiny ball of fur wreaking havoc on Eleanor’s pristine living room.
Eleanor, at 77, had decided to adopt a kitten. A tiny, ginger terror named Clementine. And I, frankly, thought it was a terrible idea.
It wasn’t that I didn’t like cats. I did. But Eleanor was living alone, her health was… delicate, and the thought of her chasing after a hyperactive kitten filled me with dread.
“She’ll keep me active!” Eleanor had declared when she’d announced her new companion. “And I’ve been so lonely since Arthur passed.”
I’d tried to be diplomatic. “That’s wonderful, Eleanor,” I’d said, “but maybe a fish would be a better choice? Something a little less… demanding?”
She’d waved my suggestion away with a dismissive flick of her wrist. “Nonsense! Clementine is perfect. She’s my little companion.”
“Companion” was one word for it. “Chaos” was another.
Kittens were a whirlwind of claws and teeth, demanding constant attention, requiring frequent vet visits, and possessing an uncanny ability to find trouble. I could already envision Eleanor, her frail frame struggling to keep up with the kitten’s boundless energy, the inevitable accidents, the scratched furniture, the sleepless nights.
And then, there was the inevitable. What would happen when Eleanor’s health deteriorated? What would happen when she could no longer care for Clementine?
I knew the answer. I’d be the one left to pick up the pieces, to find a new home for the kitten, to deal with Eleanor’s heartbreak.
My husband, Michael, was no help. “She’s happy,” he’d said, shrugging. “Let her have her fun.”
“Fun?” I’d retorted. “She’s going to break a hip chasing that thing!”
But I was the only one who seemed to see the impending disaster. My friends, my family, even Eleanor’s bridge club, all thought it was a wonderful idea. “It’s keeping her young!” they’d chirp. “It’s giving her a purpose!”
I felt like I was living in a bizarre alternate reality, where everyone had lost their minds.
Weeks turned into months. Clementine grew into a mischievous young cat, a ginger blur that terrorized Eleanor’s houseplants and shredded her curtains. Eleanor, surprisingly, seemed to be thriving. She’d developed a newfound energy, a spring in her step that I hadn’t seen in years.
She’d joined an online cat forum, sharing photos and videos of Clementine’s antics. She’d even started taking her to a local cat café, where she’d made new friends.
One afternoon, I visited Eleanor, expecting to find chaos. Instead, I found her sitting on the sofa, Clementine curled up in her lap, purring contentedly. Eleanor looked radiant, her eyes sparkling with happiness.
“She’s been so good today,” she said, stroking Clementine’s soft fur. “We’ve been having a lovely afternoon.”
I watched them, a strange mix of emotions swirling within me. I’d been so convinced that this was a terrible idea, a recipe for disaster. But I’d been wrong.
Eleanor wasn’t just keeping Clementine; Clementine was keeping Eleanor. She was giving her a reason to get out of bed in the morning, a source of companionship, a spark of joy in her life.
I realized then that my concern, while well-intentioned, had been misplaced. I’d been so focused on the potential problems that I’d overlooked the simple truth: Eleanor was happy. And that, in the end, was all that mattered.
As I left her house, I smiled. Maybe, just maybe, I’d been the one who needed to learn a lesson. Sometimes, the best things in life are the ones we least expect.
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