Chapter 2 · My Rival Wore My Stolen Jewels

My mother's name was Mary Brown.

She'd spent 31 years working at a textile mill and didn't have many hobbies, but she loved putting money aside for beautiful things. Her salary wasn't high, so she'd save a little every month until, every few years, she could afford another piece of jewelry.

She'd saved for four years to buy the emerald bangle.

The emerald pendant was a gift to herself for her 50th birthday, while the ruby necklace was something she bought when she retired, saying she'd earned it after finally making it through all those years of work.

There were eight pieces altogether, large and small, and she kept every one of them in the safe at home.

Before Mom died, she went through every piece with me one by one, telling me how much each had cost, where she'd bought it, and what year or occasion it marked.

At the time, it felt as though she were putting her affairs in order. Looking back, that was exactly what she was doing.

Only four months passed between her diagnosis and her death. I'd been married to Edward for two years by then.

He came with me to the hospital twice, but by the third visit, work had become too busy, so every appointment after that was mine to handle alone.

Edward was away on business the day Mom died, which left me to sign the papers, arrange the funeral, and carry her ashes myself. By the time he came home, her urn had already been placed in the columbarium.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it back in time," he said.

I told him it was fine, and back then, I meant it. I thought I'd married a good man, and if work had kept him away, there was nothing he could've done about it.

After that, I visited Mom's grave every year on the anniversary of her death. Edward promised five different times that he'd come with me the following year, but not once did he keep that promise.

I never held it against him because I kept telling myself he wasn't avoiding it. He was busy.

Every year that same night, I'd open the safe and take out all eight pieces: the emerald bangle, emerald pendant, ruby necklace, diamond earrings, gold bracelet, pearl brooch, tourmaline ring, and emerald signet ring.

I'd polish each one carefully with a velvet cloth before putting it back in its box and closing the safe.

One year, Edward passed by while I was polishing them and said, "You're cleaning those again? Your mom's old jewelry does nothing but sit in the safe."

I didn't answer.

"You spend so much time hanging on to old things. You could spend some of that time with me instead."

I closed the safe without responding because he didn't understand. They weren't old things. They were the result of 31 years of Mom saving every dollar she could, and they were everything she'd left me.

I'd been careful with money throughout our marriage, taking the bus instead of taxis, shopping at wholesale markets instead of supermarkets, and waiting for end-of-season sales before buying clothes because Edward said the mortgage was putting pressure on us.

I believed him.

Then there was the year I developed uterine fibroids and needed surgery. On the day I was admitted, Edward told me an urgent project required him to travel out of town to sign a contract.

"It's not a major operation. Don't worry. I'll come back as soon as I finish signing the deal," he said.

So I signed my own surgical consent form and wrote "Signed by patient" in the space meant for next of kin. The nurse glanced at it, then at me, but didn't say anything.

I spent three days recovering alone, and Edward returned on the fourth carrying a bouquet of flowers.

"The deal was rushed, and then they invited us out for dinner. I couldn't turn them down. You understand, right?"

I told him I understood, and at the time, I did.

Now, sitting alone in the company parking lot, that hospital stay came back to me with a question I'd never thought to ask before. What if that business trip had been another excuse to see the woman from the gala?

And if that one had been a lie, how many of the others had been lies too?

I couldn't let myself follow that thought any further, so I started the car and drove home.

The apartment was dark when I arrived, and Edward still wasn't back, so I went straight to the safe. I'd set the combination myself, and as far as I knew, I was the only person who had it.

When I opened the door, all eight jewelry boxes were lined up exactly where they were supposed to be.

I took out the emerald pendant first and rested it in my palm, studying its pale, smooth surface and the familiar coolness against my skin.

Mom always said a fine emerald was meant to bring peace to the person who wore it.

For the first time, I found myself wondering whether the piece in my hand was genuine at all.

*****

The next morning, I took the day off and told Edward I wasn't feeling well when he messaged to ask where I was.

[Then get some rest.]

That was all he said. He didn't ask whether I needed a doctor.

I took the emerald pendant to an appraisal center, where the appraiser examined it for about five minutes before hesitating.

"There's something about this piece," he said carefully.

"Tell me straight," I said.

"It's synthetic. It isn't genuine emerald."

I sat there without speaking as he continued.

"The workmanship is good, and the imitation is convincing, but proper equipment makes the difference obvious. If the original were genuine, given the quality, craftsmanship, and age, it'd be worth around 140,000 dollars today."

One hundred and forty thousand dollars for the pendant Mom had bought herself on her 50th birthday, except the one sitting in front of me was fake.

I remained silent.

The appraiser asked whether I had anything else I wanted checked.

"I do," I said.

I went home and emptied the safe. Since the emerald bangle was still being held by the police, I packed the remaining seven pieces into a bag and brought them all back to the appraisal center.

When the results came in, the appraiser looked almost as disturbed as I felt.

"Six of these seven pieces are fake. Only the gold bracelet is genuine. Gold's different. The composition tells us what it is," he said.

Six out of seven.

He spread the reports across the table, and I began reading them one by one, starting with the emerald pendant: fake, with the genuine piece valued at 140,000 dollars.

Chapter 2

My mother's name was Mary Brown.

She'd saved for four years to buy the emerald bangle.

There were eight pieces altogether, large and small, and she kept every one of them in the safe at home.

Before Mom died, she went through every piece with me one by one, telling me how much each had cost, where she'd bought it, and what year or occasion it marked.

At the time, it felt as though she were putting her affairs in order. Looking back, that was exactly what she was doing.

Only four months passed between her diagnosis and her death. I'd been married to Edward for two years by then.

He came with me to the hospital twice, but by the third visit, work had become too busy, so every appointment after that was mine to handle alone.

"I'm sorry I didn't make it back in time," he said.

I told him it was fine, and back then, I meant it. I thought I'd married a good man, and if work had kept him away, there was nothing he could've done about it.

After that, I visited Mom's grave every year on the anniversary of her death. Edward promised five different times that he'd come with me the following year, but not once did he keep that promise.

I never held it against him because I kept telling myself he wasn't avoiding it. He was busy.

I'd polish each one carefully with a velvet cloth before putting it back in its box and closing the safe.

One year, Edward passed by while I was polishing them and said, "You're cleaning those again? Your mom's old jewelry does nothing but sit in the safe."

I didn't answer.

"You spend so much time hanging on to old things. You could spend some of that time with me instead."

I believed him.

Then there was the year I developed uterine fibroids and needed surgery. On the day I was admitted, Edward told me an urgent project required him to travel out of town to sign a contract.

"It's not a major operation. Don't worry. I'll come back as soon as I finish signing the deal," he said.

So I signed my own surgical consent form and wrote "Signed by patient" in the space meant for next of kin. The nurse glanced at it, then at me, but didn't say anything.

I spent three days recovering alone, and Edward returned on the fourth carrying a bouquet of flowers.

"The deal was rushed, and then they invited us out for dinner. I couldn't turn them down. You understand, right?"

I told him I understood, and at the time, I did.

And if that one had been a lie, how many of the others had been lies too?

I couldn't let myself follow that thought any further, so I started the car and drove home.

The apartment was dark when I arrived, and Edward still wasn't back, so I went straight to the safe. I'd set the combination myself, and as far as I knew, I was the only person who had it.

When I opened the door, all eight jewelry boxes were lined up exactly where they were supposed to be.

I took out the emerald pendant first and rested it in my palm, studying its pale, smooth surface and the familiar coolness against my skin.

Mom always said a fine emerald was meant to bring peace to the person who wore it.

For the first time, I found myself wondering whether the piece in my hand was genuine at all.

*****

The next morning, I took the day off and told Edward I wasn't feeling well when he messaged to ask where I was.

[Then get some rest.]

That was all he said. He didn't ask whether I needed a doctor.

I took the emerald pendant to an appraisal center, where the appraiser examined it for about five minutes before hesitating.

"There's something about this piece," he said carefully.

"Tell me straight," I said.

"It's synthetic. It isn't genuine emerald."

I sat there without speaking as he continued.

One hundred and forty thousand dollars for the pendant Mom had bought herself on her 50th birthday, except the one sitting in front of me was fake.

I remained silent.

The appraiser asked whether I had anything else I wanted checked.

"I do," I said.

I went home and emptied the safe. Since the emerald bangle was still being held by the police, I packed the remaining seven pieces into a bag and brought them all back to the appraisal center.

When the results came in, the appraiser looked almost as disturbed as I felt.

"Six of these seven pieces are fake. Only the gold bracelet is genuine. Gold's different. The composition tells us what it is," he said.

Six out of seven.

He spread the reports across the table, and I began reading them one by one, starting with the emerald pendant: fake, with the genuine piece valued at 140,000 dollars.