The glittering display of the high-end jewelry boutique on Fifth Avenue, Midtown Manhattan, was overwhelming in its beauty and the sheer variety of exquisite, costly merchandise. It was impossible to tear your eyes away from such radiant magnificence.
The salesman, trim and impeccably dressed, slid a necklace out from under the glass—the one a customer had shown interest in—and deliberately moved it closer to the accent lighting. He wanted the stones to catch every possible facet, their dazzling brilliance intended to finally subdue the will of almost any person.
— “You have incredible taste, sir!” the young man, whose nametag read “Evan,” remarked with palpable reverence, the badge clipped neatly to the pocket of his crisp white shirt. “This, without a doubt, is the pride of our store. Exclusive, if I may say so. An absolute showstopper, straight from our vault.”
It was a custom piece from a renowned jeweler. “Just notice the unusual, brilliant cut on these flawless diamonds and the stunning, deep color of the rubies,” he pressed on, leaning in slightly. “It’s truly a one-of-a-kind piece. Are you perhaps selecting a gift for a very special occasion?” he asked the customer.
The man, somewhere in his late forties, wearing a tailored Brioni suit and a recognizable Rolex timepiece, was clearly a high-value prospect. From the moment he walked in, the sharp young salesman had assessed his potential, concluding that selling him something expensive would be a breeze.
— “Yes,” the man replied, his gaze still fixed on the sparkling piece, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I’m picking out a gift for the woman I love. It’s her twenty-fifth birthday in two days, a significant milestone.”
— “Oh, without a doubt! Your lady will adore such a generous present! A piece she can pass down for generations!” the salesman exclaimed, his enthusiasm genuine. Then, he lowered his voice conspiratorially. “And on top of that, sir, this acquisition will be an extremely shrewd investment. This piece will never drop in value, quite the opposite, in fact. It’s guaranteed to appreciate by at least ten percent in the next five years.”
The customer was involuntarily captivated by the incredible fire in the stones set in the delicate frame. How delighted Chloe would be with a gift like this for her twenty-fifth birthday! A vivid scene immediately played out in his mind: his young lover reacting with childlike joy, excitedly squealing and clapping her hands. God, she was so simple and pure, so easy to impress. That innocent exuberance always charmed him and encouraged him toward subsequent extravagant gestures. He genuinely enjoyed surprising his young girlfriend, who was still uninitiated into a life of luxury.
But the price… the price was steep. A sum that large, a solid six figures, was a noticeable hit, even for a successful financial entrepreneur like him. A rational thought flickered in his mind: Maybe I should look for something cheaper? Chloe, given her age, doesn’t really know much about fine jewelry anyway. Diamonds or quality cubic zirconia, it’s all the same to her, as long as her friends are jealous.
The experienced salesman, like a scanner, instantly detected the shadow of doubt in the respectable customer’s eyes and decided to play a risky hand, unwilling to lose the profitable transaction.
— “Of course, it is a little pricey, quite expensive actually,” he lamented, carefully returning the exclusive necklace to its spot with exaggerated reverence. “It’s truly a masterpiece, not everyone can afford it. That’s why it’s still here.” The young man casually waved his hand toward a side display. “But if you’re looking for a stunning piece without breaking the bank, take a look over here. We have some more modest pieces. Perfectly accessible options with high-quality simulated stones from a local design house. They are incredibly popular. We’ve already sold two today; they look almost identical under store light, I promise you.”
The salesman’s subtle maneuver hit its mark perfectly. The customer’s pride as a successful businessman—a man who ran a private equity fund—was instantly stung. He wasn’t about to tolerate such a slight to his important persona.
— “What makes you think I can’t afford this purchase?” the man snapped, his tone turning icy. “You clearly misjudged your customer. No. I am taking precisely this necklace with the diamonds and rubies. The exclusive one. Charge my Amex Black Card and process the sale quickly, please. I’m in a hurry to get to my Midtown office.”
The shrewd salesman hid a smile of profound satisfaction. A substantial, four-figure commission awaited him for this successful sale.
With a determined stride, Ethan headed toward his office in the MetLife Building, cutting straight across the small plaza near Bryant Park. Joyful anticipation, thinking about his young lover’s ecstatic reaction to such a valuable gift, surged through him. In that moment, the man felt even more majestic and significant than usual. He was the provider, the hero. He was now her king, her god.
But as soon as he stepped onto the main walkway, he suddenly stopped dead, quietly cursing his annoyance under his breath. “Damn it. How could I forget?” He’d forgotten. Completely forgotten. He’d bought a gift for Chloe, but not for his wife, Jessica. He had entirely spaced that their birthdays were only days apart.
He glanced back uncertainly at the direction of Fifth Avenue, his irritation mounting. No, going back to the jewelry store is not an option. Ethan had left the store with such an air of grandeur; returning now, especially for a cheap gift, would look utterly ridiculous.
Besides, his wife, Jessica (Jess), wasn’t accustomed to fine jewelry. She hardly ever wore even costume pieces, just the simple silver cross she always had on. From the lean days, back when Ethan was just starting his consulting firm, she’d retained the habit of being fiercely thrifty with herself. In all their fifteen years together, she had never once asked for a fur coat or a Tesla. In the dead of a New York winter, she wore a simple down jacket and insisted that taking the Metro-North train into the city was much faster and more efficient than driving.
Jess had only one weakness: she loved antiques and vintage objects. She often brought home strange porcelain figurines, old glassware, or pieces of silverware from the weekend Chelsea Flea Market or the local Connecticut antique circuit. Ethan wasn’t at all against this harmless hobby, as it didn’t require significant financial investment. Let her play, as they say. It was his wife’s only outlet, apart from her demanding job.
Ethan’s mother, Eleanor, managed the household in their sprawling Greenwich, Connecticut, home, jealously guarding the immaculate order and strictly forbidding any changes to the interior design. And in all their decade and a half together, they hadn’t had children. Ethan hadn’t suffered much from this until he met Chloe and suddenly started wondering if he even needed Jess anymore.
The passionate relationship they had at the beginning—the kind that made your head spin—was long gone. They were still together, mostly out of comfort and shared history. But Chloe… with her, he felt young again. The same lightheadedness, the same butterflies in his stomach. The need for secret meetings—the clandestine dinners in Brooklyn, the stolen weekend nights in Miami—made his blood race.
What if this was fate? A chance to start life over? Thoughts of divorce were now coming to mind more frequently. And if a split was imminent, why give his wife anything valuable?
With these pragmatic, cold thoughts, he moved forward along the shady path near the park. Suddenly, he noticed an elderly woman with a large, brightly colored, floral shawl draped over her shoulders. She was sitting behind a small folding table, displaying various trinkets, talismans, charms, and amulets. A handwritten sign on a piece of cardboard clarified her profession: “Fortunes Read. Futures Foretold. Tarot $20.”
Aha. A scammer, he instantly concluded. Just another charlatan trying to make a few bucks.
But the items themselves looked quite interesting, perfectly suited to his wife’s taste. A small, handcrafted wooden box caught his eye. It was slightly worn, the varnish cracked in places, but it retained its original, subtle elegance. Ethan picked it up and turned it over to examine it better. Yes, it was skillfully made, intricately carved. Surely, this little piece once sat on the vanity of some wealthy Colonial lady.
The old woman, whose name tag read “Marjorie,” immediately perked up, her eyes glinting.
— “That’s a lucky box, sir. A very lucky box,” she assured him in a secretive tone, leaning closer. “It brings good fortune and reveals hidden truths.”
Ethan scoffed internally, maintaining a stoic expression. Phrases like that wouldn’t work on him. He knew all the tricks of advertising.
— “How much?” he asked, curtly and efficiently.
Marjorie Walker gave him a penetrating, unsettling look and asked in a serious voice:
— “You want to buy it for your wife, then? For her upcoming special day?”
— “Yes, she loves old things. I hope this trinket isn’t going to cost me an arm and a leg?”
Unexpectedly, the fortune teller leaned even closer and quickly touched his hand—a surprisingly firm, cold grip. In that instant, visions flashed through her mind: his infidelity, the expensive necklace, the young mistress.
— “What are you doing?” He snatched his hand back as if an electric current had passed through him, indignant at the stranger’s familiarity.
The woman instantly darkened, her gaze becoming sullen and fixed on the trinkets.
— “Don’t worry, successful man,” she stated. “I’ll give you the box for a purely symbolic price. You can even name the amount yourself. Whatever you can spare, just give me that. It is meant to find its way to her.”
— “Why the sudden generosity? Is business that slow?” Sarcasm laced Ethan’s voice.
— “I want to give your wife a birthday gift,” the woman replied, unfazed, her voice flat.
— “How did you know?” He stared at the old woman in shock, then let out a sharp, dismissive laugh. “Oh, I get it. Good guess, Grandma. Pure probability. Everyone has a birthday.”
The woman smiled crookedly, a strange, sad expression, and took the box from Ethan’s hands.
— “Just let me wipe it a bit. It’s been collecting dust under the Manhattan sun all day.”
— “Sure, go ahead and wipe it,” Ethan graciously permitted, stepping aside a few feet to light an expensive Cuban cigar.
Everything was working out surprisingly well. A cheap gift for his cheap wife. A couple of minutes later, the purchase was ready and even packaged in a small, unbranded paper bag. Ethan decided not to stand on ceremony and took advantage of the fortune teller’s generous offer.
— “Here you go. I figure this little junk piece is worth exactly this much,” he said, squinting and thrusting the smallest bill he had—a crumpled one-dollar bill—into the woman’s outstretched hand, barely enough for a bus fare across town. She gave him a strange, knowing look and slowly shook her head, but she didn’t argue.
— “Well, I stand by my words,” she murmured, tucking the dollar into her shawl pocket. “May it bring your wife what she truly deserves. And you too, Ethan… may you receive what you deserve.”
💊 The Pharmacist and the Cracks in the Facade
Jessica (Jess) Miller walked into the master bedroom of her Greenwich, Connecticut, home, collapsed into the armchair without taking off her CVS pharmacist’s uniform, and stretched out her feet, which were throbbing miserably. Lord, what glorious bliss it was just to sit like this and not rush anywhere! She even closed her eyes, sighing in deep pleasure. Today had been an exceptionally frantic and chaotic day; she’d been running around nonstop.
One of her technicians had unexpectedly called out sick with the flu, and no replacement could be found across the entire district. She hadn’t even had a proper lunch—just quickly swallowed a small sandwich and chased it with lukewarm tea on the go while verifying prescriptions.
But despite such trials, Jess would never trade her profession for anything. For more than ten years, she had worked as a registered pharmacist at a 24/7 retail pharmacy, a dream she’d held since she was a little girl. She was passionate about helping people.
She had lived with her kind, devout grandmother, Anisia, in a small, remote Midwestern town. She never knew her father, and her mother only appeared occasionally. Her grandmother often referred to her flighty daughter as “shiftless” and did her best to fully compensate her granddaughter for the lack of love and attention. Jess always remembered Anisia with warmth: her gentle, warm hands, the kind look in her blue eyes framed by wrinkles.
After her grandmother’s death, Jess moved to New York and enrolled in a highly competitive pharmacy program. Her mother showed no interest in her daughter’s fate; she had another family and a new husband. Despite this, Jess held no grudge and even felt pity for the restless woman who constantly chased elusive happiness. She wasn’t one to harbor resentment. Her grandmother often said: “It’s not for us to judge. Everyone gets what they deserve.”
She didn’t feel like going down to the kitchen for a bite to eat. Her mother-in-law, Eleanor, would surely intercept her there. Eleanor had already managed to corner her upon Jess’s return from work to read her the riot act about what a useless, messy daughter-in-law she was. No, despite the fierce hunger, she would wait for Ethan, and then her mother-in-law could continue her grumbling during dinner. If he even came back before it got too late, that is. Lately, her husband had been working late more and more often. And then there were those frequent, conveniently timed “business trips”… Something had definitely changed in their life.
Tomorrow, Jess would turn 36. Thoughts kept surfacing more and more often: Am I living the right life? What for? What’s the ultimate point? A child? Yes, she had wanted one so badly. But she hadn’t been able to conceive. Her relationship with her husband had cooled significantly. Maybe it was because she was a “barren field,” as her mother-in-law often phrased it? It seemed like she was just existing.
A hot tear slowly slid down her cheek. Outside, the sound of the electric garage door scraping open announced her husband’s Mercedes S-Class slowly pulling into the driveway. Her heart leaped with unexpected joy. Forgetting her exhaustion, Jess jumped up and hurried to the bathroom. Her husband was home even earlier than usual. She couldn’t let him see her tear-stained face.
At least tomorrow was their day. Every year, on her birthday, they left the house late, drove into New York City, walked through Central Park, and then sat in some quiet, cozy retro diner in the Village. They were always happy together.
Her mother-in-law shot a disapproving look at the cheerful daughter-in-law who hurried past her toward the exit. “Always smiling like an idiot,” she muttered to herself, clutching a half-knitted sweater. “As if she doesn’t have a single problem in the world.”
Ethan was in an unusually upbeat mood, however. He hugged his wife the moment she opened the door and triumphantly held out a mysterious paper bag.
— “Jessy, my love! Happy early birthday!” He couldn’t wait and decided to give her the gift today. “I found something truly unique, just for you.”
Jess’s eyes lit up with happiness. God, this was the Ethan she had married! Clearly, she had worried for nothing.
Her husband handed her a simple paper bag. Peering inside, the young woman froze in astonishment.
— “Oh, Ethan, it’s such a beautiful thing! A real piece of history!” she exclaimed with genuine delight. “Where did you find such a treasure? The carving is so intricate!”
Her husband puffed out his chest and declared with importance, crossing his arms.
— “I had to pull some serious strings, searched for a long time among all the usual junk. It’s from a prestigious, little-known gallery downtown.” He cleared his throat, delighted with the effect he had on his wife. “I wanted to make you truly happy. This is one of a kind.”
The man clearly felt on top of the world today. Maybe he shouldn’t get a divorce? His wife had such a gentle, loving, and undemanding nature. She was the complete opposite of Chloe. Let things stay as they are for now.
With reverence and a little gasp, the young woman took the exotic object out of the packaging and began to admire its artistic vintage beauty from all sides.
— “Maybe feed your hungry husband first?” Ethan playfully rumbled, winking slyly.
— “Yes, yes, of course,” his wife quickly said, snapping out of her daze. “Sorry, I got carried away. It’s just an incredibly captivating piece, truly magnetic. I can’t seem to put it down.”
During dinner, Jess was in a wonderful mood; even her mother-in-law’s constant complaining didn’t bother her. Eleanor kept droning on about how she had to carry the entire household on her back. Jess offered her help again, and once again, she received a sharp refusal.
After dinner, with his phone pressed to his ear and a mug of herbal tea in his hand, her husband, as usual, retired to the screened-in porch. He continued his work calls. Jess quickly washed the dishes and hurried upstairs.
The new gift kept calling to her. She couldn’t wait to hold it again and admire the exquisite beauty of the antique piece.
It was fascinating to think about how and under what circumstances the box had ended up in her hands, passing through so many owners. A whole history, someone’s entire life, was tied to each object.
She slowly, pleasurably ran her fingers over the lid, feeling every raised detail of the elegant patterns. She wondered what had been kept inside before. But when she opened it, Jess was stunned by surprise. Inside, quite unexpectedly, was a simple scrap of paper, covered in writing with a very modern, cheap ballpoint pen.
The note was brief, stating: “Your husband is a liar. He is cheating on you.”
For a long moment, the woman reread the short but potent message again and again, trying to understand if the warning was even meant for her. Blood rushed to her head, and hundreds of questions hammered against her temples. Who wrote the note? How did it get in here? And what if it was true? Lately, she had been feeling the obvious coolness from Ethan. All the classic, dreaded signs were suddenly visible.
She had deliberately pushed those unpleasant thoughts away, finding new, generous excuses for her husband’s behavior every time. And now, this sign. Her heart pounded wildly, but Jess tried to pull herself together, summoning her rational thinking.
What if it’s a setup? Or maybe the note was left by the box’s previous owner? She couldn’t make such hasty conclusions and falsely accuse a loved one. She needed to figure things out properly.
Heading straight for the porch, Jess noticed Ethan whispering softly into the phone. Seeing his wife, he quickly mumbled:
— “Alright, gotta go. Talk soon, sweetheart.” And immediately ended the conversation, his thumb hitting the screen a little too fast.
Another loud, blaring sign.
— “Honey, where exactly did you buy this box?” she asked, trying to sound casual. “You said near the office, right? Which gallery?”
The man smiled benignly, too easily.
— “Oh, a little, unmarked spot near 42nd and 6th. An antiquarian specialist. Not cheap, of course, but nothing is too much for my favorite wife.”
— “Did you happen to look inside it before you bought it?” his wife asked, her eyes fixed on his.
Sensing something was wrong, the man shifted nervously, clearing his throat.
— “No, to be honest. It was wrapped. Why? What’s going on, Jessy? What’s with the grilling?”
Jess silently handed Ethan the note she had found, her heart pounding against her ribs.
— “What is this garbage?” he asked in genuine confusion, but the next moment, his face flushed crimson, and he leveled a furious glare at his wife. “You really think this is about me? You think I’m some kind of cheat?”
— “I don’t know what to think, Ethan. That’s the problem,” his wife answered quietly. “I’m trying to find out.”
— “This is ridiculous! Absolute nonsense!” her husband raged, tossing the paper onto the glass table. “And what, some secret admirer slipped it to me right at the gallery? Where’s the logic in this?”
The logic was clearly on Ethan’s side. His reaction was too strong, too indignant. So, his wife was silent for a moment and, taking a deep breath, agreed with his arguments. She even had to apologize for the unfounded suspicion to her husband, who continued to sulk for a few minutes. But the thought of the mysterious anonymous note wouldn’t leave her mind.
The morning was glorious and sunny. The birthday girl, despite a restless night, jumped out of bed and rushed to the bathroom to get ready. She wanted to look especially good today.
The reflection in the mirror, though, didn’t please her as much as it used to. 36 wasn’t 20. She had lost the spark she once had.
A displeased voice from behind the door broke her contemplation.
— “Jessy, are you going to be much longer? It’s nearly 8 AM; I need to get ready for my board meeting.”
The woman stepped out of the bathroom and asked in genuine surprise:
— “Work? How can you go to work? I thought you’d stay with me today. We always spend my birthday together!”
— “Sorry, darling, I was lying to myself when I said I could clear my schedule,” her husband kissed her quickly on the cheek. “I’m swamped at the office; a major deal is closing. No time for strolls right now. I’ll be home tonight, and we’ll sit in the kitchen with Mom. We’ll have a quiet dinner.”
A heavy, disappointed sigh escaped the restless birthday girl’s chest.
Jess still remembered how, after their wedding, Eleanor constantly needed her son’s help. Only her kind, late father-in-law, George, had any real influence over her.
After a rushed breakfast, her husband sped off to his office, leaving the distraught birthday girl alone with her mother-in-law. An idea suddenly popped into Jess’s head: She would bake a cake for the evening celebration.
Enthused by the idea, Jess bustled around the kitchen. Her mother-in-law watched her with suspicion for a while, then inquired in a displeased tone:
— “What are you planning, Jessica? Are you trying to make a mess?”
— “I’m going to bake a cake, Eleanor,” she chirped happily. “It’s my birthday; I thought it would be nice.”
— “What cake?!” the mother-in-law scoffed. “I bought a mountain of organic berries yesterday, and I was planning to make my famous apricot preserves. I have a whole day’s work here; you’ll be in my way!”
— “Let’s make the preserves tomorrow,” the daughter-in-law suggested, flustered. “I have tomorrow off, too; I’ll help you.”
— “I don’t need that kind of help.” Eleanor remained adamant. “Jessica, don’t take over the kitchen. I said no. I have my plans, and I won’t change them.”
— “Eleanor, please, I’m only asking for a small corner of the counter,” Jess pleaded. “It’s my birthday today.”
But the old woman just let out a disdainful sound.
— “It’s just a birthday, Jessica. Relax. It’s not a major milestone celebration.”
She was hurt to tears. Arguing with this woman was useless. No, Jess couldn’t stay here any longer. It was her day, after all.
Changing out of her uniform and grabbing her handbag, she rushed out the front door and headed toward the Metro-North train station. She’d rather spend the day alone in the city than listen to grumbling and undeserved accusations.
On the train, a new idea struck her: She would visit the general area where Ethan had supposedly found her gift. Maybe she could also figure out something about the note.
But after walking the block near 42nd and 6th twice, Jess couldn’t find a single small, unmarked antique shop. Frustrated and puzzled by the lie, she wandered down the street. Her feet automatically carried her along a park walkway toward a bench.
A frail elderly woman with a small table laden with various trinkets was carefully observing Jess as she slowly approached. As soon as Jess drew level with her, she asked:
— “Are you perhaps looking for me, dearie?”
The young woman shot a skeptical glance at the sign offering fortune-telling services. She shook her head negatively and hurried past. She didn’t trust any of these charlatans.
But the fortune teller’s next sentence hit her like a bolt of lightning.
— “I’m the one who wrote you the note,” a voice called clearly from behind her.
It was completely unexpected. Jess stopped abruptly and turned, looking back at the woman in disbelief.
— “Yes, your husband bought that box from me yesterday,” the woman confirmed, pulling a crumpled one-dollar bill from her shawl pocket. “Here, this is how much he valued the gift for his beloved wife.”
— “What? But he said… he said it was from a prestigious gallery…” Jess trailed off, her voice cracking. He lied. He lied about everything.
— “He has a mistress, dearie,” the older woman, Marjorie Walker, continued, her voice soft but firm. “I see these things instantly through my visions. She has long, blonde hair. And for her gift, he didn’t spare any expense.”
— “He bought a very expensive diamond and ruby necklace at the jewelry store on Fifth Avenue. My visions showed me the purchase just before he came to my table. That’s why I left the note.”
Surprisingly, Jess’s mind didn’t react with an outburst. Only a sudden, overwhelming sense of a huge, gaping, freezing void formed in her soul. The stranger had simply articulated the truth.
— “And who is she? What’s her name?” the betrayed wife managed to ask, her voice flat, hollow.
The woman just shrugged.
— “I can’t say a name; I don’t know. I only see that she’s very young, in her twenties, and she uses the name Chloe sometimes.”
— “You’re a clairvoyant. I thought you knew everything,” the young woman lamented.
The old woman chuckled softly.
— “It’s different for everyone. I only see flashes of images—past, future. I have to interpret them myself. That’s why mistakes happen.” She frowned. “I never used to tell fortunes for money. I was a librarian for 40 years. It was only recently that life forced me to come out here.”
— “What happened to you?” Jess asked, trusting the woman.
Marjorie Walker had worked her entire life at the public library in Queens. She had buried her husband when she was still young. Six months ago, her daughter and her husband were killed. A sleepy truck driver had slammed into the I-95 rest stop bench where they were waiting for a Greyhound bus at high speed. Unbearable grief fell onto the unfortunate woman’s shoulders. Only the responsibility for her grandson, Leo, whom she had taken in to raise, prevented her from falling into the abyss of depression.
But trouble doesn’t come alone. Just recently, the little boy had been diagnosed with a severe neurological condition. He needed expensive treatment and surgery, which could only be guaranteed at a specialty clinic overseas.
— “I work at a pharmacy,” Jess spoke up immediately. “Write down the name of the medication; I will try to find it through our distribution channels.”
Jess spent her entire birthday with Marjorie Walker and Leo. The woman turned out to be a brilliant conversationalist.
— “Keep it, dear,” she said, placing the box in Jess’s lap. “Let it be yours. When I gave it to your husband, I poured all my power into the wish for truth. And my wishes often come true.”
Jess was extremely reluctant to approach her boss. Marcus Kane had taken over the regional pharmacy chain only a year ago but had been constantly harassing her. But she had no choice.
— “I’m listening, Jessy,” Kane replied in a smooth, oily voice. “Go on, be bold. You clearly need something significant.”
Jess approached the desk.
— “Here, the name of the drug. It’s vitally important for a little boy. It’s a specialty pediatric compound from Switzerland.” She showed him the name. “Can we possibly order this?”
— “I’ll tell you right now, it’s unlikely we have this in stock in the whole country,” he stated. “But I can place a rush order overseas through my private channels. It would take considerable effort, paperwork, and… persuasion.”
That phrase instantly lifted the young woman’s spirits, and she now looked at her boss with imploring eyes.
— “Mr. Kane, please, I beg you, place the order. This medication is critical to a child’s life.”
— “It’ll be a huge hassle, of course,” Kane grumbled. “I’ll have to call, negotiate across multiple time zones. I’ll be pulling in every favor I have.”
— “If you need anything from me, I’m ready to help. You can count on me completely.”
Staring intently into her eyes, Marcus Kane said meaningfully:
— “Jessica, I, in turn, expect a certain favor from you, but of a slightly different nature. You know what I mean.”
— “What do you mean, exactly?” the subordinate asked.
— “Let’s discuss it in an informal setting. I invite you to a quiet, discreet dinner at ‘The Golden Vine’ tonight.”
Jess looked away, her cheeks burning crimson.
— “I can’t tonight. I have a prior commitment.”
— “And when can you?” the boss persisted.
— “I don’t know. I have a lot going on,” she almost whispered.
A cold, unfriendly glint lit up the boss’s eyes.
— “In that case, I’m afraid I won’t have the time or the necessary motivation to deal with the complexities of finding that rare European compound.” he countered harshly.
From that day on, things at her beloved job went sideways. The vengeful boss, Kane, began creating intolerable working conditions. He scheduled her for the worst shifts—overnights and holidays—and fined her for every minor, fabricated violation. Jess held on with all her might.
The atmosphere at home wasn’t much better: a discontented mother-in-law and an unfaithful husband she hadn’t yet dared to confront honestly. Only her conversations with Marjorie Walker and the time spent with Leo helped her stay sane.
One day, the boss couldn’t take it anymore. He cornered the object of his lust in the staff break room, started hugging her fiercely and pressing her against the wall. In response, he immediately received a resounding slap that severely wounded his male ego.
That was the last straw. When she came in for her next shift, Jess immediately sensed something was wrong. Her coworkers looked frightened and cautious.
They informed her right at the door that the director was waiting for her in his office. Besides Marcus Kane, there were two police officers inside. A balding, heavy-set man, and a tall brunette with a grim, focused face.
— “Here she is, Jessica Miller, the thief,” the boss pointed a finger at her.
The burly officer, Wade, gestured to a chair and spoke in a monotone, rehearsed voice.
— “Please sit down, Ms. Miller. We have received an official complaint. You are being accused of stealing expensive prescription drugs—controlled substances, no less.”
— “What? Stealing? Controlled substances?” the pharmacist exclaimed indignantly. “I’ve worked for this company for over ten years with a spotless record!”
— “Right here,” the heavy-set officer nodded toward an open laptop. “Surveillance video attached. It clearly shows you entering the break room and carrying out packages of Schedule III medication.”
Realizing what they were referring to, Jess exhaled in relief, thinking she could clear this up quickly.
— “Yes, that’s correct. But Marcus himself instructed me to bring him those packages for a stock count last week.” She turned to her boss, asking him to confirm her statement.
But he just nervously waved his hand away.
— “God forbid, Jessica. I have never seen those drugs in my life, and I gave you no such instruction. That is a serious allegation you’re making against your superior.”
The man’s answer was a bolt from the blue, a betrayal so cold it was paralyzing. A bitter, sharp lump formed in her throat, and tears welled up in her eyes.
— “But you… you asked me to… You set me up!” was all Jess could stammer out in a trembling voice.
The second, dark-haired officer, Alex, silently observed the pharmacist from the side. Snatching her trembling phone from her pocket, she dialed her husband’s number.
— “Ethan, I need your help! Please!” Her voice broke. “I’m in serious trouble at work! I’m being accused of theft!”
— “What happened?” her husband inquired, his voice guarded, distant.
— “The police are here! They want to press charges. I need you here! Please! I need your lawyer! Come quickly!”
The man’s voice on the other end of the line was silent for a few seconds. Then Ethan cautiously, definitively, said:
— “I can’t right now, Jess. I’m tied up in a critical acquisition deal. This can wait until this afternoon. Call our corporate attorney, he can handle it.”
— “Wait how, Ethan? You don’t understand! I’m being arrested! Please! I need you!” his wife cried, pleading.
Her husband hesitated for a little longer, then, with a heavy, performative sigh, confessed:
— “I… I’m actually not in the city. I’m in Jackson Hole, Wyoming. Sorry, I forgot to tell you. I’m closing a deal here. I won’t be back for several days. It’s an urgent business trip.”
Jess was numb with astonishment. The memory of the packed, luxury Tumi travel bag she’d seen near the door this morning, and the name Chloe whispered on the phone, slammed into her. He had finally, publicly, made his choice.
The emptiness in her soul expanded to incredible proportions, consuming all feelings and emotions. This was the final, definitive end of their relationship.
Leaning back in the chair impassively, the woman stared into the space in front of her. Let whatever happens, happen; she didn’t care anymore.
The dark-haired police officer, Alex, who had been watching her intently the entire time, suddenly approached her and asked quietly:
— “Ms. Miller, for what purpose did you take those medications? If you tell me the truth right now, I will help you. You won’t be charged, I promise. Just tell me why.”
She lifted her full, honest blue eyes to him and answered with newfound strength:
— “I didn’t take anything. Marcus Kane is just taking revenge on me for rejecting him. I didn’t steal them for myself.”
Their eyes met and seemed to pierce one another to the very core.
— “Wade, we’re done here,” Alex stated, standing up and heading for the door. “There’s no sufficient evidence or intent for a crime here. We’re writing up a refusal to press charges. She’s being targeted. But I’ll follow up on the harassment claim separately.”
— “Alex, you can’t be serious?” the heavy-set partner, Wade, was surprised. “The video is right there!”
Alexander stubbornly held his ground by the door.
— “The video is circumstantial. The boss’s testimony is unreliable given her harassment claim. It’s his word against hers. No charges. Let’s go.”
The officers silently gathered their documents from the table and exited the office, ignoring Marcus Kane’s outraged protests and threats. The boss turned his face, contorted with malice, and hissed:
— “Don’t celebrate, you tramp. You’re still fired. Effective immediately.”
She stood up, gathering her last ounce of strength, and decisively moved toward the exit.
— “I wasn’t planning on staying here for one more minute after such a despicable act on your part,” she shot back on the move, looking him straight in the eye.
The boss became even angrier and yelled after her bitterly:
— “I will make your life a nightmare! I will personally destroy your reputation! You will never work as a licensed pharmacist in this state again!”
Near the building entrance, Alex Taylor was waiting for her. Now, his face no longer seemed stern; rather, it was open and genuinely kind.
— “Let me give you a ride, Jessica,” he offered. “My name is Alex Taylor.” He offered Jess his wide, strong hand. The woman looked at Alex gratefully.
She slid into the passenger seat of his older model, well-maintained Chevy Tahoe.
— “Where to?” the driver asked.
The decision was made instantly.
— “Here, a few blocks away. The New York City Clerk’s Office. I want to file for divorce papers, today.”
Meanwhile, Ethan had searched through all the papers in the home safe twice, but still hadn’t found the marriage certificate. He furiously began pulling out all the drawers of his late father, George’s, massive mahogany desk. The bottom one was jammed, filled with notebooks and papers.
“Maybe the certificate accidentally ended up in this drawer?” the man thought, and for the first time in years, he began meticulously laying out all the contents onto the desk.
The sought-after document didn’t appear, but at the very bottom, he found an unknown, heavy manila folder. Inside lay several hundred shares of stock for every member of the family. Carefully reading the company name, “Innovate Solutions Corp,” the man was stunned. It was a famous, publicly traded West Coast tech corporation whose stock had skyrocketed—a 2000% gain—in the last decade.
Ethan’s heart pounded. With fingers trembling with excitement, he typed the company name into his Bloomberg Terminal…
The internet didn’t fail him and quickly displayed the stock price as of today. Ethan bit his lip and held his head in his hands, rapidly calculating the total sum. It was a multi-million dollar fortune. Well, thank you, Dad, this is a real inheritance!
But upon closely examining the documents again, Ethan realized that exactly one-third of the valuable stock was registered in Jess’s name. His father had always been fond of his daughter-in-law and had gifted her the shares shortly after their marriage as a gesture of welcome to the family. But in light of recent events—the divorce papers his assistant had just confirmed—his father’s goodwill had turned into a genuine catastrophe. Would he really have to split such a huge windfall, potentially losing $4 million?
No, he definitely needed his soon-to-be ex-wife’s share. He had to buy them from Jess for next to nothing, before she realized their value. She didn’t understand the market anyway. His hand automatically reached for the phone to dial the familiar number.
— “I need to talk to you, Jess. It’s urgent. It’s about a small, administrative issue.”
For almost a month now, Jess had been living with Marjorie Walker in her tiny, old, but surprisingly clean Brooklyn walk-up. The day the young woman filed for divorce, she decisively packed a single suitcase and left Ethan. It was the clairvoyant who offered her a place to stay with her and Leo. The little boy was thrilled.
Seeing the dilapidated state of the apartment where his wife was now living, Ethan felt a slight twinge of self-reproach. But only for a moment. Ultimately, she chose this herself.
— “Jess,” he began in an unusually gentle, falsely affectionate voice. “I was going through Dad’s old papers and remembered there’s a small number of old, pre-IPO shares registered in your name. They’re basically worthless, just a few thousand dollars, but they’re tied up in my business filings. Could you sign them over to me? For a small profit, of course. I’ll pay you five thousand dollars cash, right now.”
The woman shrugged. Why not? Five thousand dollars was a huge amount to them now. She took a pen to sign the document he conveniently placed in front of her.
— “Don’t sell them, Jessica,” a stern voice boomed from the small kitchen archway. It was Marjorie Walker. Frowning severely, she glared at the guest.
— “Don’t sell them, child,” she repeated, stepping forward. “Your husband is trying to deceive you again. He’s hiding a huge fortune. I see it—bright, blinding light all around those papers.”
— “What is this raving nonsense?” Ethan exclaimed indignantly, jumping up. “This insane old woman has completely lost it. Don’t listen to her, Jess! Sign here and here!”
But Jess frowned and resolutely pushed the documents away from her.
— “No, Ethan, I won’t sign them. Marjorie is rarely wrong, and you’ve already lied to me once too many times. I will have them appraised first. Then we’ll see.”
— “Who are you listening to, Jess? A crazy street psychic over your husband of fifteen years?” her husband raged.
Smiling bitterly, Jess asked:
— “And who should I listen to, Ethan? The man who lies to my face, or the woman who tells me the painful truth? I don’t trust you anymore.”
He had no rebuttal. Gritting his teeth, the man had to leave empty-handed.
Marjorie Walker proved to be right. After hiring an independent broker and selling the stock, Jess received a staggering sum. It turned out that the money—over $4.2 million—was exactly enough for Leo’s operation and his rehabilitation period. It didn’t even occur to Jess to keep all the money for herself. Her first thought was of the sick little boy. She simply couldn’t have acted otherwise. While silently thanking her late father-in-law, George, for his incredible legacy, the woman paid for the specialized surgery at a clinic in Geneva, along with the travel and living expenses for Marjorie and Leo.
The elderly woman cried and laughed at the same time, hugging Jess tightly at the airport.
— “My darling girl! You are family to us now, forever!” she kept saying. “Live with us! Leo loves you so much!”
— “Thank you, Marjorie!” she replied, smiling radiantly. “I love Leo too, and I will visit almost every day once you return. But Alex and I have decided to live together. I’m moving in with him.”
— “He’s a good man, a true heart. You will be very happy with him,” the clairvoyant replied.
Jess was indeed happy.
But the rosy dreams of a happy future were briefly tested. Marcus Kane couldn’t let it go. One day, Alex returned from work earlier than usual, sat down on the couch, and tiredly closed his eyes.
— “I quit, Jess. I’m out.”
— “What happened?” Jess asked anxiously. “You love being a detective!”
— “That Kane guy from the pharmacy did this,” Alex said, shaking his head. “It turns out my Captain is an old college buddy of his. Kane called in a serious favor. I was told to write a resignation letter or face a major disciplinary hearing. I had no choice.”
He gently hugged Jess.
— “I’m sorry, Jessy. I’ll figure something out, I promise, and I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
Money was running low. Alex was blacklisted from police work and couldn’t find a new job. That’s when Jess went to the antique dealer, Alex’s good friend. The discovery of the box’s true value—that it was a rare piece by a forgotten 18th-century master, which Jess had suspected from its craftsmanship—changed everything.
Jess and Alex used the money from the stock and the antique sale to start their new lives. Alex Taylor founded his own successful Private Investigation Agency, specializing in white-collar crime. And Jess Miller used her deep corporate knowledge and passion to open her own independent, specialty Compounding Pharmacy, navigating around Kane’s threats by relocating her license to a neighboring state.
There was also news about Jess’s ex-husband. After the divorce finalized, Ethan quickly married Chloe. But he had made a disastrous, over-leveraged investment with the remaining stock money and lost almost everything, facing massive personal debt. His new wife, Chloe, upon realizing the family fortune was gone, filed for divorce the very next day. Unwilling to settle for a typical middle-class existence, she quickly found herself another Venture Capitalist to pursue in San Francisco.
Everyone got what they deserved.
The new, gleaming Lexus SUV stopped at the wrought-iron gates of a beautiful property in Westchester. A modern, two-story mansion stood amidst the manicured grounds.
— “This is where we live now—all of us, together,” Jess announced.
Marjorie Walker was speechless. Her grandson, however, jumped out and began happily bouncing and shouting with joy.
— “Yay! I love it here! I want to live here!”
Marjorie Walker walked up to Jess and put her arms around her shoulders.
— “Jessy, you are absolutely radiant. You’re pregnant, my dear. I know. I can feel the new life around you. I am so happy for your courage and kindness.”
They hugged and cried happy tears together.
— “I guess if you want something very, very much, it’s bound to happen,” Jess whispered, her hand resting on her stomach. “Though, not always in the way you imagine it. Everything happens for a reason.”
Author’s Commentary
As the author, I find that a story is often a vehicle for exploring a single, complex question. On the surface, this story is about betrayal, secrets, and the unraveling of a marriage. But beneath that, it’s a narrative exploration of a more fundamental concept: the vast difference between price and value.
This story was built to test that idea through its characters, who each live by a different definition of “worth.”
💰 The Central Metaphor: Price vs. Value
The story’s inciting incidents all hinge on this theme. We are introduced to Ethan not just as a man, but as a man defined by his purchasing power.
- The Salesman Scene: This opening isn’t just about buying a necklace; it’s a mirror. The salesman, Evan, doesn’t sell Ethan the jewelry—he sells Ethan an image of himself. He manipulates Ethan’s pride and ego, not his desire for the item. The moment Ethan is offered the “cheaper” alternative, the necklace’s six-figure price tag becomes the only thing that matters. He isn’t buying a gift; he’s buying a validation of his status.
- The Two Gifts: The contrast between the two birthday gifts is the story’s narrative engine.
- The Necklace: It has an astronomical price. It is a cold, calculated transaction meant to “impress” a young mistress who, in Ethan’s own mind, is “simple” and “uninitiated.” It is a tool of control.
- The Box: It has a “price” of one dollar—an insult. Yet, its value is immeasurable. It’s an antique with a history (which appeals to Jess’s true nature) and, more importantly, it is the vessel for the truth. It becomes the catalyst for Jess’s liberation.
This theme is carried through to the story’s climax. The “worthless” stock papers, which Ethan tries to buy for a trivial $5,000, turn out to have a multi-million-dollar value. Again, Ethan only sees the price (what he can get them for), while Jess, guided by Marjorie, is able to realize their true value—which, fittingly, she uses not for luxury, but to save a life.
🎭 Characters as Conflicting Ideologies
I didn’t want to just write “good” and “bad” people, but rather, characters who represent conflicting ways of moving through the world.
- Ethan: From a storytelling perspective, Ethan is a man who has allowed his life to become entirely transactional. His wife is a “thrifty” habit. His mistress is an “extravagant gesture.” His job is his identity. His core flaw isn’t just infidelity; it’s his inability to see value in anything that can’t be quantified on a balance sheet. He is, in a literary sense, morally bankrupt long before he is financially so.
- Jess: Jess’s journey is one from passivity to agency. In the beginning, she is defined by her role as a pharmacist—a helper, a dispenser—and as a long-suffering wife. Her “weakness” for antiques is a key character trait; it shows she values history, craftsmanship, and the stories in things, not their price tag. The note in the box doesn’t just tell her the truth; it gives her permission to act on the truth she likely already felt.
- Marjorie & Kane (The Catalysts): These two characters serve as opposing forces to push Jess’s arc.
- Marcus Kane is a parallel to Ethan, but more predatory. He also sees people as transactional. He believes Jess’s integrity has a price he can pay (or extort). His role is to be the crucible that burns away Jess’s last bit of passivity.
- Marjorie is the story’s moral center. She is an agent of fate, or perhaps just profound human intuition. She sees the “truth” of people. Her intervention with the note is the act that balances the scales, setting in motion the “poetic justice” that the story requires.
⚖️ A Modern Morality Play
Ultimately, this story was structured as a modern morality play. The ending, where “everyone got what they deserved,” is a deliberate narrative choice.
In life, justice is often messy and unsatisfying. But in fiction, we have the ability to create a world where actions have direct and fitting consequences.
- Ethan’s downfall isn’t just about losing money; it’s about his core identity being stripped away. His new wife, Chloe—whom he valued for her “simplicity”—proves to be just as transactional as he is. She leaves him the moment his price tag disappears, proving his entire relationship was built on a valuation that a market crash could (and did) wipe out.
- Jess’s reward isn’t just the money or the new relationship. It’s the creation of a new family built on the values she always held: loyalty (Alex), kindness (Marjorie and Leo), and helping others (her new pharmacy). The pregnancy at the end is symbolic of this new life—something Ethan’s “barren” world could never have produced.
The story suggests that what we value is, in the end, what we become.
🤔 Questions for Reflection
- In the opening scene, do you think the salesman (Evan) is as morally compromised as Ethan, or is he simply good at his job?
- Jess’s mother-in-law, Eleanor, is a source of constant friction. From a storytelling perspective, what purpose do you think her character serves in Jess’s life?
- Marjorie’s intervention with the note is a major turning point. Do you see it as a “supernatural” act of fortune-telling, or simply the act of a woman who is a very keen observer of human nature?
- Ethan’s father, George, is never seen, but his act of giving Jess the stock is one of the most important events in the story. What does this tell you about his character and his view of his own son?
