When Prue finds a hidden gift that mysteriously disappears, her quiet suspicions start to unravel a truth far more devastating than forgotten birthdays. At her husband’s party, a single whispered sentence from her son turns the evening into a reckoning. Some betrayals wear satin… others wear aprons and smiles.
I found the box a few days before my birthday. It was tucked behind two old suitcases at the back of the closet.
It wasn’t like I was snooping. I was decluttering, looking for the picnic blanket we only ever used twice a year. My son, Luke, needed it for his school’s evening picnic later that week.
A folded picnic blanket | Source: Midjourney
“Please, Mom,” he’d said. “I told the guys that I’ll take the blanket and the soda. Oh, and I promised them that you’re going to make the chocolate and caramel cupcakes, too.”
So, I did what any mother would do. I went hunting for the picnic blanket, taking out old items in the process.
I found the box with the blanket. But the second I lifted the lid and saw another sleek black box. I opened it to find that skirt and in that moment, everything else fell away.
A platter of cupcakes | Source: Midjourney
It was a luscious satin skirt in deep plum, with the kind of embroidery you can only get by hand. I had shown it to my husband, Christopher, months ago when we were window shopping.
I was only half-joking when I said that it was “too indulgent.” I’d secretly hoped that he’d get it for me.
“You deserve indulgent, Prue,” he’d laughed.
A skirt in a shop window | Source: Midjourney
Now, when I saw it, folded so precisely, laying on top of pristine tissue paper, I thought: this is it. My birthday gift!
For a moment, I was over the moon. Chris and I had been together for years and there were times when I was convinced that the spark was fizzling out. But it was things like this… moments like this, that made me think we were stronger.
“You’ve just scored yourself some brownie points, Christopher,” I muttered to myself as I put everything back in its place. I figured that I’d give Luke a dark colored quilt to use for the picnic instead. I didn’t want Chris to realize that I’d seen the box.
A smiling woman standing in front of a closet | Source: Midjourney
I waited, impatiently, for my birthday. I bought myself a new blouse to go with the skirt. I kept it hidden my sock drawer, waiting to wear on the day.
But on the day, there was no skirt.
Christopher gave me a set of books. They were thoughtful books. Books that I’d enjoy, sure. But not the gift. There was no mention of the skirt at all. I waited a few days, thinking that maybe he was saving it for my birthday dinner with family and friends over the weekend, or that maybe my husband had a surprise planned.
There was nothing of the sort.
A set of books wrapped with a bow | Source: Midjourney
One morning, I went back into my closet to just touch the skirt again. I had fallen in love with it on the mannequin in the store window and the thought of it being in my home was just too… delicious. I couldn’t not go back to see it.
But the box was gone.
Just… gone.
I didn’t say anything to anymore. I wanted to believe in something softer than suspicion. Because that’s how women like me survive. We choose hope, even when it rots in our hands.
A frowning woman standing in front of an open closet | Source: Midjourney
Three months passed and the skirt never revealed itself.
Then came Luke.
It was a Wednesday afternoon, and I was plating lemon tarts and lemon chiffon cake bites for a wedding tasting order. My hands were sticky with lemon zest and sugar when my son shuffled into the kitchen. His hair was a mess and his eyes kept darting between the floor and my face.
“Mom?” he said, his voice small.
A tray of lemon tarts | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t like the way he said it. It was like something had gone sour inside him.
“What’s wrong, champ?” I asked him. “Why so down?”
“It’s about… that skirt,” he said simply.
“What about it?” I asked, not even trying to make sure that we were on the same page. We had to be talking about the same thing.
An upset boy standing in a kitchen | Source: Midjourney
“Please don’t be mad,” he said glumly, sitting at the kitchen counter. “But I need to tell you something.”
I nodded and pulled up a barstool to sit across him. His words had scraped something raw in me.
My son took a deep breath.
“I remember when you showed it to Dad. You know… we were at the mall and I was drinking that huge blue slushie? Anyway, I knew Dad bought it because when he and I went back to the mall to pick up my new pair of soccer boots, he ran in to buy it.”
A woman standing in a kitchen wearing an apron | Source: Midjourney
I nodded. I couldn’t bring myself to speak. I didn’t trust any words that came out of my mouth.
“So, I skipped class a few months ago, okay? Just a couple of periods, not a full day. And I left my skateboard at home. So I thought that I’d come in, grab it, and go skate the guys for a bit. But when I got home, I heard voices. I thought that maybe it was you and Dad… but I knew that you hardly leave the bakery before closing time.”
“That’s right,” I said, my voice strained.
A skateboard in a teenage boy’s room | Source: Midjourney
“But I thought that maybe you came home early. I mean, sometimes you work from home when there’s a big wedding coming up. Like today…”
“Honey, you can just tell me,” I said. “You don’t have to drag it out… you don’t have to protect me.”
Luke smiled sadly and nodded.
“I went into your bedroom and heard the voices coming from your bathroom. When she laughed, I knew it wasn’t you. I hid under the bed.”
A teenage boy sitting at a counter with closed eyes | Source: Midjourney
I didn’t breathe.
“I saw shoes, Mom. Dad’s brown shoes, you know, the expensive one? And I saw really high heels. And legs. And… she was wearing the skirt that Dad bought.”
My throat tightened.
“I didn’t see her face,” he added quickly. “I couldn’t from where I was hiding. But I knew it wasn’t you. And when they left, I ran. I didn’t know what to do. I went to Justin’s house until I saw your car drive into the driveway.”
A pair of brown suede shoes | Source: Midjourney
I reached for him and he flinched, not away from me but away from the memory. Before I knew it, Luke was collapsed in my arms, hugging me tightly.
My son. My baby… completely shaken by a truth he never asked to carry.
I held him tightly but inside? My heart was already tearing in two.
An upset mom and son holding each other | Source: Midjourney
Christopher’s birthday arrived four days later. We hosted. Of course, we did.
“There’s no other baker I want touching my dessert table,” he joked.
I got food catered, rented a cocktail bar, and played soft jazz from our Bluetooth speaker. I baked my husband’s favorite cake, a delicious chocolate cake with hazelnut cream and raspberry coulis.
It was perfect. Just like how people assumed we were.
A chocolate cake on a table | Source: Midjourney
I wore a navy wrap dress that hugged me in all the right places, red lipstick I hadn’t touched in years, and heels that made my calves ache 20 minutes into wearing them.
I smiled and made small talk with Christopher’s coworkers. I laughed at jokes I didn’t pretend to understand. I caught my son’s eye and winked whenever I could. He smiled back at me.
Hours passed and I waited for the night to be over. And then, Luke appeared at my side, tugging at my sleeve.
A smiling woman wearing a navy dress | Source: Midjourney
“Mom!” he whispered urgently. “I think that’s her. That’s the skirt you wanted, isn’t it? That’s the same skirt!”
I froze, gripping the rim of a tray of chocolate cake pops just a little too tightly. Then I looked up.
Penelope.
I knew her, of course. She was Christophe’s assistant. She had always been warm and friendly to me. She was married, too. She had come with her husband, Nathaniel, on her arm. He was tall, quiet, and always perfectly polite.
A tray of chocolate cake pops | Source: Midjourney
She wore a necklace I’d complimented once. And the skirt.
My skirt.
I set the tray down on a table and crossed the room.
“Penelope!” I said brightly, cheeks aching from the force of my grin. “That skirt is stunning! You look gorgeous! Where did you find it?”
A smiling woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“Prue,” she smiled uncomfortably. “Thank you, I adore it. It was a gift, actually.”
“How lovely,” I leaned it. “Nathaniel must have fantastic taste… Funny thing, though. I found one exactly like it in my home not long ago. But it just vanished before I could try it on.”
Her smile wobbled and she gulped hard.
Across the room, I could see that Chris was watching us.
A close up of an upset woman standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“Nathaniel,” I called to her husband, who was getting them both drinks. “Come join us! We were just chatting about this beautiful skirt your wife’s wearing. Chris, come here!”
The three of them stood before me. Penelope’s hand fluttered over her hip. Nathaniel just looked lost and confused.
As for my husband? He looked like he’d just swallowed glass.
A man wearing a black formal shirt | Source: Midjourney
“I dreamed about that skirt,” I said gently. “I thought that my husband had paid enough attention to me when I told him that I’d like it… It appeared briefly, in a beautiful box. And then disappeared. Like magic. But… imagine the truth, Christopher. Here it is… on your assistant.”
Silence.
“I… I gifted it to Pen,” Chris said, clearing his throat. “As a reward. For her performance at work. She’s been doing a wonderful job.”
An uncomfortable man standing in a living room | Source: Midjourney
“How generous you are,” I said, tilting my head. “And what part of her performance are we celebrating? Should we drink to her performance in the boardroom or… the part where she stops by during lunch breaks to work on projects in our bedroom? Come on, there’s champagne!”
Penelope paled. Nathaniel gasped and blinked slowly as if trying to rewind the time. Chris stepped forward with wide eyes, but I held up a hand.
“There’s no point denying it,” I said. “I have a witness.”
A tray of champagne coupes | Source: Midjourney
We didn’t realize that the room had fallen silent during our conversation. The music faded into the background like it knew it wasn’t welcome anymore.
“Prue,” Chris started. “Maybe we should…”
“Shush,” I said, cutting him off.
I turned to Nathaniel.
A woman with her hand on her head | Source: Midjourney
“You know, we’ve had dinner together. You’ve been in my home, we’ve been in yours… But I never once suspected anything. Isn’t that wild? Did you suspect anything between them? Who knew that betrayal could sit next to you at a table and ask for salt?”
“It wasn’t like that, Prue! I swear… We didn’t…” Penelope stammered.
“Honey, you did,” I cut in. “Maybe once, maybe more, maybe a hundred times. I don’t care. You brought this into my house. You are literally wearing my gift right now. And the two of you made my son your witness.”
A close up of a blonde woman | Source: Midjourney
“Don’t drag Luke into this.”
“Luke’s already in it, Christopher,” I snapped. “Who do you is the witness?”
I looked at Nathaniel. His eyes flicked to Penelope, then to me. He didn’t speak but his hand dropped from her waist and he took a step to the side.
A teenage boy with messy hair | Source: Midjourney
The air in the room had changed. Guests started to shift, some were even heading out. Someone tried to put the music back on, but ended up connecting to my “Dracula” audiobook instead.
The party ended.
I didn’t bother crying that night. I had already done that after Luke had confessed.
I had collapsed onto the floor of my pantry and cried. I had gripped the steering wheel tightly and cried in a parking lot after grocery shopping.
An emotional woman sitting in a car | Source: Midjourney
Chris tried to talk to me after everyone left and Luke had taken himself to his Xbox.
“I didn’t mean to hurt you, Prue,” he said.
I was cutting the cake into thick slices for the neighbors.
“I don’t know if I believe that,” I said. “But you hurt me nonetheless. And you broke our son’s heart.”
A teenage boy’s bedroom | Source: Midjourney
“I made a mistake.”
“You made a choice, Christopher.”
“I don’t love her,” he looked away.
“Then why give her something meant for me? Something I loved the moment I set my eyes on it.”
He didn’t answer.
A close up of an emotional man | Source: Midjourney
“I’d like a divorce, Chris,” I said.
“Prue, wait!” his head snapped up.
“No,” I said. “It’s what I really want.”
The papers were signed quietly. There was no big dramatic scene or any shouting. Christopher moved into a one-bedroom apartment near his office. I heard that Penelope moved back in with her parents.
Documents on a table | Source: Midjourney
“She looks miserable, Prue,” Janice, one of Christopher’s colleagues told me when I ran into her at the grocery store. “Apparently, Nathaniel kicked her out that night. I heard her telling Chris about it at the office.”
Luke asked if I was okay.
I told him yes, a hundred times over, until he seemed to believed me.
The truth is, I am.
A teenage boy sitting on a couch | Source: Midjourney
I started waking up early again, not out of anxiety or an alarm clock, but to walk the dog as the sun came up. I taught myself how to make honey tulles from scratch. I said yes to dinners with friends I hadn’t seen in years.
And I stopped setting an extra place at the table. I still take Luke to his father’s house whenever he wants but even that seems to be a rare occasion.
Oh, and I bought myself that skirt. In every color that the store carried.
Because if anyone’s going to spoil me now, it’s me.
A woman walking her dog | Source: Midjourney
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This work is inspired by real events and people, but it has been fictionalized for creative purposes. Names, characters, and details have been changed to protect privacy and enhance the narrative. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental and not intended by the author.
The author and publisher make no claims to the accuracy of events or the portrayal of characters and are not liable for any misinterpretation. This story is provided “as is,” and any opinions expressed are those of the characters and do not reflect the views of the author or publisher.
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