My Craft, Her Gift

My husband stole and gifted my pottery piece to his beloved Kate for a Valentine’s Day surprise. She held it up proudly at a press conference, claiming it as her own and accusing me of stealing it.

Desperate for even a shred of support, I turned to him, but he only sneered, “Why would you take something that isn’t yours? You’re disgusting."

The crowd turned against me in an instant. Condemning me with glares and whispers, they left no room for me to defend myself.

Feeling utterly defeated, I walked away.

But fate has a way of circling back. Later, my husband and I crossed paths again at a charity gala.

This time, everything had changed.

I was the center of attention while he stood diminished and out of place, with tears in his eyes, begging me for another chance.

...

Under the spotlight, Kate held the original prototype of my ceramic vase at a press conference.

She condescendingly said, “If you can’t come up with your own work, maybe don’t even bother. Stealing someone else’s design is seriously low.”

I stood there, numb, staring at the prototype in her hands. Desperately, I reached out to Ryan, my husband, hoping he would finally stand by me.

“You know that design is mine,” I whispered. Why does she have it, Ryan?"

But Ryan’s expression was ice cold. He then brushed me off with that same dismissive look. "Why would you take something that doesn't belong to you? You’re disgusting.”

Moments ago, I clung to the hope that he would stand up for me and that he’d remember I showed him the original pottery piece before I even entered the competition.

But instead, he delivered the final blow.

Whispers started to ripple through the crowd, faces filled with disdain.

“Even her husband’s confirming it,” one of them commented.

Another spectator added, “Guess she really did plagiarize.”

“She’s got some nerve, pulling this here!” someone shouted.

“Stealing someone's work and then lying about it? Pathetic!” A mock came through the guests.

It hit me that any attempt to explain was pointless.

With my husband standing firmly by her side, I was utterly alone.

I didn't remember much about leaving the press conference—just the cold, unrelenting rain that soaked through my clothes as I walked, mirroring the emptiness I felt inside.

When I got home, I was drenched, shivering from the inside out.

Barely holding myself together, I took a hot shower, hoping to wash away the ache. Just as I started drying my hair, Ryan walked in.

Without a word, he took the towel from my hands and gently started drying my hair, his touch oddly tender.

It felt surreal like nothing had ever happened.

Then, he spoke, almost hesitantly. “Julia, I can explain. I helped her today for a reason.”

I looked at him as he continued to explain, “Kate… she doesn’t have much time left. The doctor says she only has a few months.”

I frowned, taking the towel back from his hands with a cold, suspicious look.

He noticed, and his brow furrowed. “I didn’t think you’d be so heartless about this,” he muttered.

I didn’t respond. I just grabbed my hairdryer and turned it on, ignoring him completely. I didn’t have the energy to argue with a man who cared more about his mistress's needs than his own wife’s dignity.

But he wouldn't let it go. Ryan reached over and grabbed my hand, pulling it down. “Julia,what exactly do you want?” He took a deep breath and added, “I’ve explained everything. What more do you need?”

I kept quiet as he continued talking, "Don’t forget, you’re the one who insisted on marrying me back then. And now you have the audacity to treat me like this? If it weren’t for her influence, do you really think your work would’ve been noticed? Stop fooling yourself.”

He leaned closer, his voice dripping with twisted reasoning. “You should be grateful to her. She made sure the world saw your work.”

I couldn’t listen to one more word of his pathetic excuse.

“That’s enough,” I said, my voice calm and final. “There’s nothing left to say. Let’s get a divorce.”

Without waiting for his response, I started packing my things.

But he grabbed my arm, his face darkening. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I yanked my wrist free, anger flashing in my eyes. “Let go of me. Can’t you see? I’m leaving.”

For a brief second, something shifted in his expression, but it vanished just as quickly.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said, stepping in front of me. “Where do you think you’re going in this rain? You can’t even drive.”

My voice rose with frustration. “That’s none of your business. I hope you and Kate have a fantastic life together!”

At that, he grabbed my suitcase and slammed it down. “Stop acting like a child, Julia! This is Kate’s last competition. I’m only asking you to help her this one time.” Ryan tugged my hand again as he pleaded, "I’ll make it up to you, I swear.”

Ignoring him, I bent down, picked up my broken suitcase, and made my way toward the door.

But he wouldn’t move.

He blocked the doorway, exasperation etched across his face. "Julia, what do you really want? I’ve apologized and given you my reasons. Why are you still angry over such a trivial matter? Even if the industry blacklists you, I can still take care of you.”

Seeing his concerned expression, a surge of bitterness rose in my stomach. “If that’s the case, then go ahead and protect her. But leave me out of it, Ryan.”

He ran a hand over his face, rubbing his temples as though he was the one suffering, completely oblivious to why I was finally, irrevocably done.