I’ve been eating alone most nights because Patrick has been cooped up in our study, pretending to work while muttering on the phone. “What’s going on, Patrick?” I questioned him after going through the same cold routine for two weeks. “Work is demanding, Jane,” he stated, keeping eye contact. “It’s going to settle down soon, I promise.”Patrick usually sits down with me to discuss his work, but instead he retreats to his study with a mug of coffee.It wasn’t simply the distance between us; it was the silence and unspoken words that permeated our home.A few days later, Patrick informed me I could use his car for work. “Use mine, darling,” he answered when I noted that stopping at the petrol station would make me late for work. “I filled it up last night.”I got into Patrick’s car, inhaling the familiar aroma of his cologne combined with the old leather seats. While adjusting the driver’s seat, I discovered it—a lovely ring hidden behind the seat in a velvet box. It wasn’t mine, that was obvious. But it was extremely lovely, with a familiar feel to it. My heart sank as I saw the intricate design and how it shimmered in the light.Whose ring was this? I started the car and drove to work, while questions began to pour in. Was there anyone else? Had Patrick’s late nights and guarded phone been intended for another woman? Who was on the other end of his whispered calls? I strolled inside my office, feeling the weight of Patrick’s possible infidelity on me. Patrick informed me that my 30th birthday was approaching, and he had huge plans for it.But what if he won’t be around long enough to rejoice with me? What if he leaves me for someone else? In a moment of rage—or possibly desperation, or even vengeance—I devised a scheme. If this ring belonged to or was intended for the other lady in Patrick’s life, I wished she could suffer a fraction of the sorrow I was experiencing. So I took my bottle of habanero sauce, which I use on all of my meals at work, and drowned the ring in it. After it dried, I returned the ring to its original location, bracing myself for the impending storm. Then I took out my stethoscope and proceeded to examine my patients. When I arrived home, Patrick was cooking dinner, but the soon he turned off the stove, he put on his shoes.“I need to see my mother; she needs some help around the house. I’ll be home shortly,” he remarked as he walked out the door. I paced around the house, expecting something to happen. I considered calling Patrick’s mother to see whether he had actually gone to her. “Keep it together, Jane,” I reminded myself before helping myself to dinner.My phone rang, taking me away from my thoughts—I needed to stay vigilant in case one of my patients had a medical emergency. Instead, it was Monica, my best friend, who spoke in a panicked tone. “Jane! I need your help!” she said into the phone, scarcely pausing to breathe. “What’s wrong?” I asked quietly. “I put on a piece of jewelry and my hand feels like it’s on fire. What do I do? This has never occurred to me before! “It is so bad!” Her remarks shocked me. This couldn’t be a coincidence. So the lady I accused my spouse of cheating with was not a stranger, but rather my best friend? I needed answers. After calming Monica down and advising that a quick remedy would be to dip her hand into plain yogurt, I gently asked her why she was in such pain.“I… I do not know, Jane. It only started a few seconds after I placed the ring on. Patrick didn’t know what to do either, so he told me to call you,” she exclaimed, gasping as she realized she had given herself away. “My gosh, Monica. Why are you with Patrick? Please just tell me. There was a pause. She had a brief period of uncertainty before admitting the truth. “It’s not as you think, Jane. Patrick and I have been planning your surprise party. This ring is for you. It’s a family heirloom from Patrick’s side that he wanted you to have. He showed it to me now since he’d just had it cleaned. “I just wanted to try it on.” The parts of the puzzle finally fit together. All the late nights, the secrecy, Patrick’s fixation on his phone—it was all for me.In my eagerness to condemn, I nearly lost the trust and affection we had developed over the years.I urged Monica to have Patrick bring her over so I could look at her hand. When they arrived home, I told them everything—the guilt was overpowering, but I knew I needed to put things right. “It’s okay, Jane,” Monica soothed me. “We should’ve said something sooner. I’m just glad we can resolve this now.”