My Own Surprise

On the eve of our wedding anniversary, I found a ten-carat diamond ring in my husband’s coat pocket.
This must be my surprise, I thought, and slipped it back where I found it.
A moment later, I was scrolling through my social media feed when I saw a new post from Brian’s young secretary.
[The North Star. Can’t wait for this ‘surprise’ to land on my finger.]
I stared at the screen, then walked back to the closet, took the ring out, and slid it onto my own hand.
Some surprises, I decided, you just have to give yourself.

1
In five years of marriage, Brian had never given me a diamond ring, not even on our wedding day.
So when I first saw it, I’ll admit, a tiny thrill went through me. I’d heard about this ring before. It was the final masterpiece of a world-renowned designer, a custom piece commissioned and named “The North Star.”
I thought the old, stoic tree was finally about to bloom.
I just never imagined the flower wasn’t meant for me.
The sound of the shower was a steady rush from the bathroom. Acting on some strange impulse, I picked up his coat again. I tried the ring on every finger, from my pinky to my thumb, on my left hand and then my right.
The damning conclusion was unavoidable. This ring wasn’t for me.
The massive round-cut diamond glittered under the lamplight, but it was nothing compared to the frantic sparkle in my own eyes. My vision blurred for a second.
I allowed myself that single second of grief, then scrubbed the tears away with the back of my hand. Five years of my life flashed through my mind. At the end of it, I gritted my teeth and forced the slightly-too-large ring onto the middle finger of my left hand.
Then, as Brian emerged from the bathroom, his pupils contracting into pinpricks, I waved my hand in front of his face.
“Surprise received,” I chirped. “Happy anniversary!”
Brian had spent years navigating the cutthroat world of business; the boyish transparency he once had was long gone. Not a flicker of panic crossed his face. After a long moment, he simply opened his arms and pulled me into an embrace.
“Hannah,” he murmured into my hair. “Happy fifth anniversary.”
“For our next five years, I’ll get you an even more beautiful one, alright?”
I buried my face in his chest, my shoulders shaking with laughter. He mistook it for the happy, emotional little sobs he was used to, thinking I was just being cute.
He patted my back comfortingly.
“This ring is one of a kind,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “A symbol of my unique and singular love for you.”
…
Well, thank God for a moment of courage. It had secured me this “unique and singular” love.
After all, a moment later, and that “love” would have belonged to someone else.
Turns out, you really do have to make your own surprises. When can you ever truly rely on a man?

2
I took a series of photos of the ring and posted a nine-photo grid to my feed—a rare indulgence for me. The caption was simple and blunt:
“Big enough, sparkly enough. I love it.”
It wasn’t long before a like and a comment appeared from his little secretary, Peyton.
“It’s beautiful! But it looks like a custom design. Mrs. Hayes, do you happen to know the story behind it?”
Every word was a spark, a blatant provocation. But I didn’t care.
When you don’t get what you want, you’re allowed to be a little sour, right?
I’m a generous person.
So I replied to my own post with a “smirking face” emoji:
“The story? The story is that it’s worth a fortune, haha…”
Anyone who could see my feed could see that comment.
Within minutes, likes from a dozen other socialites started pouring in.
[LOL, Mrs. Hayes, you always know what’s important.]
[Hannah, you’re hilarious as always.]
…
The next time I refreshed the page, Peyton’s pathetic little comment was gone.
And so was the post she’d made an hour earlier.

3
That night, I lay in bed with my eyes closed, sleep a distant country.
Vaguely, I sensed Brian getting out of bed.
I shifted, and his movement paused.
When I was still again, I heard the sound of footsteps, deliberately softened, heading out of the room.
So, he did know how to be considerate of others. He just chose not to be.
It was like his habit of waking up at the crack of dawn. He never once thought to move quietly, despite knowing I often worked late into the night. He’d just see me blinking awake, confused, and pat my head with some patronizing advice.
“Early to bed, early to rise, makes a woman healthy and wise.”
He knew my work schedule was flexible, that I often had to burn the midnight oil.
It was only now dawning on me. This good man, my husband, had probably never loved me at all.
I burrowed under the covers and quietly opened the security app on my phone.
On the camera feed from the corner of the living room, I saw him standing on the balcony. I couldn't hear what he was saying through the glass, but I could see the helpless, indulgent smile on his face.
I don’t know how much time passed before he came back to bed, bringing the chill of the early autumn air with him.
He fell asleep quickly. I couldn’t.
The coldness he carried seemed to seep into my bones, freezing me from the inside out.
I opened my phone again. His secretary’s feed had been updated ten minutes ago.
[Love and companionship are the most important things in the world.]
The accompanying image was a screenshot of a voice call.
The name and profile picture were blurred out, but looking at the call duration—nearly half an hour—I couldn’t lie to myself any longer.
It hurt. Of course it hurt. In my version of the future, Brian and I were supposed to last a lifetime.
I never expected some girl to just waltz into the middle of it.
I’d met Peyton a few times. She was a vibrant, energetic young woman… just like I used to be.
When I first heard he’d hired a new secretary, I’d felt a flicker of unease. But the moment I saw her, I relaxed.
She looked so much like me. And that was a good thing.
Because Brian had never shown any particular fondness for the way I was. Add his cold, aloof personality to the mix, and I thought, what kind of girl would be foolish enough to fall for her own boss?
Apparently, I was wrong.
Or maybe men are just that fickle.
Or maybe he hadn’t changed at all. He just didn’t like me.
Thankfully, over the past five years, on the rare occasions those cold lips of his had uttered the words “I love you,” I’d always treated it as part of the act.
The old saying is true: you can’t get hurt if you never believed in the first place.
Love is the most important thing, is it?
I looked at the man sleeping beside me, and a wave of nausea washed over me. I turned my back to him.
Fine. Because to me, money is the most important thing.

4
I didn't sleep a wink, mentally cursing Brian in a thousand different ways.
I finally drifted off in the early morning, only to be pulled from a hazy dream by Brian.
Before I could react, his lips were on mine, a hot, demanding kiss that swept over me like a storm.
My sleepiness vanished instantly. On pure instinct, I shoved him away.
Ugh. What a disgusting way to start the day.
Brian, stunned by my reaction, just laughed.
“You’re getting grumpier in the mornings.”
His smile was a glare in my eyes, like some kind of pathetic compensation for his infidelity.
I closed my eyes and rolled over, turning my back to him.
“I need more sleep. You should go.”
Silence. Then a low sigh from behind me.
“Alright. Remember to get up and eat breakfast.”
“I had Mrs. Gable make that seafood congee you love.”
I burrowed deeper into the blankets, my mind a tangle of irritation. “Got it,” I mumbled.
He must have sensed my mood. With another small laugh, he tucked a card into the bedding beside me.
“Go out and have some fun. It’s not good to be cooped up at home all the time.”
I shifted to show I’d heard him. A soft chuckle, and then, “Okay, I’m leaving.”
I clutched the black card, and all my frayed nerves seemed to smooth over. Instantly, I was back asleep.
I slept until the afternoon. When I woke up, I scrolled through my phone and saw Peyton’s latest post.
It was from that morning.
[Who has the most amazing boss? Not only did he give me a ride to work, but yesterday I mentioned I was craving seafood congee, and today, there’s seafood congee!]
The picture was of a thermal food jar.
It was a limited-edition one I’d bought overseas. I’d never even used it, keeping it as a display piece.
And the photo was clearly taken from the passenger seat of Brian’s car.
I understood now. This wasn’t just showing off.
This was a declaration of war.
I looked at the bowl of congee on my nightstand, and my stomach turned. I walked it to the kitchen and dumped it in the trash.
It’s fine, I told myself. It’s fine.
If she wants the damn congee, let her have it.
I have the black card.
There’s nothing I can’t buy.
I changed my clothes and headed straight for the mall. Money, after all, is only yours once you spend it.
I walked into my usual high-end boutique, and the sales associate recognized me immediately.
“Mrs. Hayes, perfect timing! The diamond bracelet Mr. Hayes ordered for you has just arrived.”
A bracelet?
I never wear them.
And after yesterday’s lesson, I knew exactly who this was for.
As they say, one act of courage is always followed by… a second.
I smiled serenely and accepted the box.
“Thank you. No wonder Brian told me to go out shopping today.”
“Could you help me put it on?”
As she fastened the clasp, she chattered happily. “Mr. Hayes was very specific about the design.”
“He even had your initial engraved on it.”
I can’t blame her for being oblivious. Brian and I used to come here together often. For years, he’d played the part of the devoted husband so perfectly that of course, everyone believed it.
I flipped the bracelet over to look at the engraving. An elegant, cursive P.
P for Peyton?
That didn’t stop me from smiling.
“What a lovely surprise.”
I immediately took a picture and sent it to Brian.
“Another unexpected surprise! Received. Thank you, darling.”

First, search for and download the MotoNovel app from Google. Then, open the app and use the code "257962" to read the entire book.