I went back to work.
I started seeing friends again.
I bought clothes because I liked them, not because Ryan approved.
At his company party, his coworkers barely recognized me.
“Ryan, your wife looks incredible!”
He suddenly couldn’t stop touching my waist.
On the drive home, he grinned.
“See?
I knew you still had it in you.”
A week later, he brought me flowers for the first time in months.
“You look like the woman I married again.”
I smiled.
“Then let me plan something special for us.”
I booked dinner at the hotel where we’d spent our wedding night and told him to dress nicely.
Ryan assumed the rest.
He bought a new shirt, packed an overnight bag, and spent dinner telling me how beautiful I looked.
“I knew you’d thank me eventually,” he said, raising his glass.
Then our waiter approached carrying a large black box tied with a white ribbon.
Ryan’s face lit up.
“For me?”
I slid it across the table.
“You could say that.”
He laughed and pulled at the ribbon.
But when he lifted the lid, his smile vanished.
He stared inside.
Then he looked at me, all the color draining from his face.
“Claire… what is this?
How dare you?!”
