Smashing Treasures, Sealing Her Fate

Three years after our breakup, I ran into my ex-girlfriend, and she had her new boyfriend by her side.

"Hey, isn't that Henry the expert?" Diego Stanley taunted with a smirk. "Three years post-breakup, and you're slumming it here playing with clay?"

I furrowed my brow, ignored them, and carefully moved the Victorian-era porcelain musician figurine onto its preset base in the display case.

When I wasn't biting, he reached out to grab the figurine from my arms. "What's this junk you're treating like gold? Let me take a look."

Cynthia Wyatt frowned, her voice laced with that familiar arrogance. "Henry, I've given you three years to shape up, and you're still the same loser? Come on, hand over that clay doll to Diego. Don't kill the vibe. If you play nice, I might even reconsider our old engagement."

As Diego's hand neared the figurine, I dodged quickly and barked, "Hands off! It's a historical artifact!"

Diego got pissed off and shoved me hard. "Some flea market find, and you're acting all high and mighty?"

In the ensuing scuffle, I lost my balance, and the figurine slipped from my grasp, crashing to the floor.

That sealed their fate. This entitled pair was about to go bankrupt trying to fix it.

A sharp, heart-wrenching crash echoed through the empty, silent exhibit hall.

That priceless national treasure, the culmination of countless hours of dedication, was shattered into pieces right before my eyes. The serene musician figurine was reduced to a pile of cold shards, its centuries-old melody silenced forever.

My heartbeat nearly stopped. The world fell into dead silence.

I stared blankly at the fragments, feeling as if all the blood had drained from my body. My limbs went cold instantly.

My ex-girlfriend, Cynthia Wyatt, strolled over with a frown, looking down at me with superior disdain and cold mockery in her eyes. "Come on! It's just a dumb clay doll. No need to look like you're about to keel over."

Diego burst out laughing, doubling over, and he stepped on a larger shard, grinding it under his foot. "Cynthia, look at his face, like the sky's falling. He's really selling it. It's just a clay doll, for crying out loud."

The artifact endured secondary damage, and I gasped in horror. Without thinking, I shoved him aside to inspect the shards on the floor, desperately trying to salvage what I could.

This was a one-of-a-kind piece that our team had spent six months repatriating from overseas. It was an irreplaceable gem of our nation's history and culture.

"How dare you shove him over some junk?" Cynthia snapped, stepping forward to block me, her force making me stumble back.

She demanded sharply, "Apologize to Diego right now!"

I rolled my eyes, sidestepped her, and pulled out my phone with shaking hands from my pocket. Under their amused stares, I dialed a number I hated to bother at a time like this.

When the line went through, my voice came out oddly calm—calm enough to surprise even me. "Mr. Henson? This is Henry at the Smithsonian's 'American Heritage Treasures' special exhibit setup in Zoriorford. A Class-One artifact, the Victorian-era porcelain musician figurine, has been deliberately destroyed."