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“Mark,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, “I found something in your car today.”
He looked up, eyebrows raised. “What do you mean?”
I pulled the ring from my pocket and set it on the table between us. His eyes widened, and for a split second, I saw something flash across his face—guilt, fear, surprise? I couldn’t tell.
“Where did you get this?” I asked, my voice trembling.
Mark stared at the ring, then at me. “It’s not what you think,” he said, but I could see the wheels turning in his mind. He was searching for the right words, the perfect lie.
“Then what is it?” I pressed, feeling a mix of anger and desperation clawing at my chest.
He sighed deeply, running his hands through his hair. “It’s… it’s my sister’s. She asked me to hold onto it for her. She’s been going through a rough time and didn’t want to lose it.”
His explanation sounded plausible, but something felt off. Mark’s sister had never been close enough to confide in him like that, let alone trust him with something valuable. And why wouldn’t he have mentioned it before? I knew I wasn’t getting the full story.
The days that followed were a blur of tension and distrust. I couldn’t shake the feeling that Mark was hiding something. Every time his phone buzzed, every time he came home late, my mind spiraled with doubts. I found myself obsessively checking his car, his clothes, even his email, looking for any sign of betrayal. But there was nothing—just the ring, sitting in a drawer, taunting me with its silence.
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