I thought we were celebrating our 14th wedding anniversary. James had made a rare romantic gesture: dinner reservations at the same upscale restaurant we’d visited on our honeymoon. I let myself believe he might actually have something special planned. When we sat down at the candlelit table and he handed me a small box, my heart fluttered. Could it finally be jewelry?

No — it was a set of high-end cooking utensils. Again. I forced a smile as James beamed. “You love cooking,” he said, proud of himself. And he wasn’t wrong — I did. But deep down, something in me sank. I had hoped for something thoughtful. A massage. A piece of jewelry. A dress. Something that said he saw me beyond the kitchen.

When James excused himself to the restroom, a waiter arrived with a salad I hadn’t ordered. Before I could say anything, he leaned in and whispered, “Don’t eat it. There’s a surprise inside — from your husband.” My heart skipped. Was this it? I dug carefully through the greens and found a diamond ring. Tears welled up. Finally, he’d done it. But when James returned and saw the ring, his face went pale.

His voice was sharp: “Where did you get that?” I stared, confused. “You didn’t…?” He shook his head. “No. Put it down. We need to talk.” The waiter, still nearby, spoke up. “That ring? It’s the one James gave my girlfriend.” Time seemed to freeze. “She wasn’t the only one,” he added. James scrambled to deny it, calling it a mistake. But his silence spoke volumes. I stood, trembling. “I gave you everything. And you gave her this?” I dropped the salad and the ring into his lap. Gasps filled the room as I walked out, head high. Hurt — but finally free.