Since it was my contact number that Fred left, the doctor called me.
He didn’t sugarcoat it.
It was late-stage cancer.
We had two options: either go through surgery, which might give Fred a few more years, or skip it and let him live out the remaining six months as comfortably as possible.
I didn’t even hesitate—I chose surgery.
But the problem? The surgery would cost 300,000 dollars, and we didn’t have a penny in savings.
That’s when I remembered the gold bracelet my husband gave me.
It weighed 400 grams—a solid, expensive piece.
Why not sell it?
At 800 dollars per gram, I could get 320,000 dollars for it.
That would cover the surgery costs almost perfectly.
The moment that idea hit me, I rushed to find the bracelet.
Since it was so pricey, I’d never even worn it—not once since we got married.
But when I found it, I couldn’t believe my eyes.
It was fake.
I looked at my husband, and at that moment, I decided not to tell him he had cancer.
Right then, he gave me a little kick and said, “What are you standing around for? Hurry up, let’s go home!”
Every month, we drove back to the town. Not for anything special—just to have dinner with the whole family.
Since my parents passed away, I really treasured those gatherings.
I especially loved spending time with Marcia, my mother-in-law. Being around her gave me this feeling like I had a mom again.
And honestly, she was the kindest one to me in the whole family.
If anyone would understand what I was going through, it’d be her.
When we got to the house, I told her everything.
I knew she couldn’t help, but I just wanted a little comfort.
Something to remind me I wasn’t completely alone in this family.
But instead, she looked at me and said, “So what? My son managed to marry you with a fake bracelet. That just shows how smart he is. Not everyone’s got that kind of talent, you know.”
“Don’t you know whose mother I am? And now you’re running to me to tattle on my son? You know what? I think he’s been way too nice to you. He should’ve beaten some sense into you by now.”
“You’re always running to someone else’s mom to cry about your problems. No wonder you ended up with no parents of your own.”
Her words knocked the wind out of me. My parents’ death was always a raw wound.
Even my closest friends wouldn’t touch that subject.
But here she was—someone I thought of as kind and gentle—throwing it in my face just because I complained about her son.
By the time dinner rolled around, I was pale and out of it.
Not that anyone seemed to care.
Marcia had made grilled steak for dinner. There were four of us, but she only grilled three.
And when it came time to serve, she gave me this pointed look and said, “Anyone who badmouths my son won’t get to eat the dish I make.”
My husband figured out what was going on pretty quick.
He looked at me and said, annoyed, “Are you seriously still upset about that bracelet? Are you really that materialistic? You think you’re gonna die without it?”
Then he let out this cold laugh.
“You don’t actually think my mom didn’t know, do you? That fake bracelet? It was her idea.”
I stared at Marcia, stunned. Of everyone in this family, she was the one I trusted most.
I couldn’t believe she was behind it!
“Why?”
But before I could get an answer, the door opened, and in walked an uninvited guest.
It was my husband’s childhood friend, Blossom Hoffs, with her son.
The kid ran in, all cheerful, and said, “Uncle Fred!”
Right away, my husband pulled a check from his wallet and handed it to the kid.
Fred always did this—every time Blossom brought her son over, he’d give the boy a check.
But this time, I didn’t even think. I reached out and snatched it right out of the kid’s hand.
