The Best Decision

I’d been married to my husband James for three years. On Valentine’s Day, he gave his stepsister, Mia, one hundred and eighty thousand dollars, along with millions in jewelry.

I, on the other hand, received a free bouquet of roses. When I didn’t look thrilled, he accused me of being a gold digger.

“Mia never had anyone to care for her growing up. Why are you competing with her? Isn’t being Mrs. Smith enough to feed your vanity?”

Furious, I stormed out of the house.

When a car lost control and came barreling toward me, he instinctively rushed to protect Mia, who was standing a full ten feet from the road. I was the one who ended up in the hospital.

Lying in that bed, I finally gave up. I signed the divorce papers without hesitation.

“Giving up the title of Mrs. Smith is the dumbest decision you’ll ever make,” he told me, looking down at me from above before walking away.

Seven years later, we met again. He took one glance at my simple dress and laughed out loud.

I didn’t bother to respond. I just held my daughter close and waited for her father—the richest man in the city—to arrive.

Today marked my third Valentine’s Day with my husband, James Smith. He gave his stepsister, Mia Smith, one hundred and eighty thousand dollars and millions in jewelry, but all he gave me was a bouquet of roses.

I married James when he was at his lowest. I stood by his side, watching him go from having nothing to becoming the CEO of Smith Group. However, now that he was successful, he spared no expense for his little sister, who wasn’t even related to him by blood, while telling me to keep living frugally.

It had never been about the price of the gift for me. Even when he brought me small, cheap trinkets to test me, I happily accepted them.

Today, however, was Valentine’s Day, and he couldn’t even be bothered to replace the original packaging that had “complimentary gift” printed on the plastic wrap.

When I received that ridiculous “present,” I was in the kitchen, preparing our candlelit dinner for the evening.

“James, what is this?” I tried to keep my voice calm, holding up my phone to show him the photo Mia had just posted on social media. I wanted to talk about it like adults.

James didn’t even look up from his phone. His tone was impatient. “What?”

“One hundred and eighty thousand dollars and a full Dior Exquis set!” I said sharply. My anger flared as I tossed my phone onto the table in front of him. “You give her all that, but to your wife, you hand over some promotional freebie roses?”

He finally looked up, frowning. “You’ve been stalking Mia’s social media?”

I almost laughed at the absurdity of it. That was his focus?

“Do I even need to? The whole company is talking about how much you spoil her!” My voice began to shake. “Three years, James. Three years of handbags, watches, and jewelry for her. And me…”

“Why are you making a fuss over this?” he cut in, his voice heavy with that helpless tone you use for a child throwing a tantrum. “Mia was abused by her adoptive family growing up. She’s only just started to open up. Is it wrong for me to take extra care of her?”

“Extra care? On Valentine’s Day, you hand her one hundred and eighty thousand dollars and jewels?” I laughed bitterly. “For our wedding anniversary, you couldn’t even bother to do more than post on Instagram.”

His face darkened. “Evelyn, when did you become so materialistic?”

The words hit me like a knife to the chest.

Materialistic? I gave up my guaranteed spot at Harvard Medical School’s PhD program to help him start his business. When he went bankrupt, I worked three jobs to support him, and now I’m being accused of being greedy?

The wave of anger and disappointment made my vision blur. I took a deep breath to steady myself, then turned toward the bedroom. “I need to rethink our relationship. I’m staying somewhere else tonight.”

“Evelyn!” James strode over, gripping my wrist. “You’re threatening divorce over a gift? Have you lost your mind today?”

Suddenly, Mia’s voice came from the doorway. “James, I forgot my keys– Oh my God, are you two fighting?”

She hurried over, looking worried. “Evelyn, please don’t fight with my brother because of me. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have posted my gift on Instagram.”

James’ voice immediately softened when he saw her. “It’s not your fault. You’re my sister. You deserve everything I give you.”

“That’s enough!” I yanked my hand free and glared at them both. “Three years of watching you two put on this little ‘devoted siblings’ act is enough for me!”

Mia’s eyes instantly welled with tears.

James stepped protectively in front of her, his tone sharper than mine. “Why are you yelling at her? She’s always treated you like a real sister.”

“A real sister?” I gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “James, save that line for the divorce lawyer.”

I stormed into the bedroom, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door.

“You’re talking nonsense!” James shouted, storming after me. Mia clung to his arm, both of them chasing me out toward the street.

“Evelyn, I’m telling you one last time. Go back inside!” His patience had run out, his tone harsh as he reached for me again.

“Don’t touch me!” I jerked back.

Suddenly, a glare of headlights blinded us. A car, clearly out of control, swerved in our direction.

“Mia!”

Without hesitation, James wrapped his arms around Mia, who wasn’t even close to the street, and pulled her backward. As he turned, his elbow slammed into my side, sending me stumbling.

I lost my balance and fell hard into the middle of the road.

As a sickening, heavy thud rang out, pain exploded through me. Before the darkness swallowed me whole, the last thing I saw was James holding Mia tightly without sparing me a single glance.

When I woke up, every inch of my body ached. The doctor’s words about a mild concussion and fractured ribs buzzed in my ears.

James stood by the bed, brow furrowed. The first thing out of his mouth was, “The medical bills for saving you tonight cost more than Mia’s gift. Are you happy now?”

Mia, peeking out from behind him with red, watery eyes, whispered, “It’s all my fault. I’m sorry, Evelyn…”

I turned my head slowly toward them—James, dressed immaculately in his suit, and Mia’s jewelry glittering under the hospital lights. Meanwhile, I lay there in pain, disheveled and broken.

I could not believe he actually asked me if I was happy.

“Let’s get a divorce,” I rasped, my voice hoarse but firm.

James froze, then gave a cold laugh. “Over something this small? You’re overreacting.”

“The divorce papers are in my bag.”

I didn’t want to say another word. I simply pointed toward the purse I’d brought with me.

He pulled out the papers, his face darkening as he read. “When did you prepare this?”

Mia tugged at his arm, her voice trembling. “James, I’m not trying to come between you two… You’ve worked so hard all these years, and instead of appreciating you, she’s talking about divorce…”

James had looked hesitant until she spoke. Then, he grabbed a pen, signed his name, and slapped the document down on my pillow. “As you wish. I can’t wait to see what kind of life you can manage without me.”

He dropped the pen, turned, and left with Mia by his side, their footsteps echoing down the hallway.

I stared at the signed papers for a long moment. Then, I smiled.

I’d always deserved better anyway.