I only opened it because the ribbon slipped. A silver box, small and neat, tucked inside his nightstand. I thought it was for me—an anniversary gift he had hidden, maybe. My heart fluttered as I lifted the lid, expecting something that shimmered. But what I found didn’t sparkle. It bled.
Inside was a folded photograph, edges worn from too many fingers. I pulled it out with trembling hands. The paper smelled faintly of cologne, his cologne, like he’d held it often. I unfolded it slowly, my stomach knotted tight.
Her face stared back at me. Not mine. Not anyone I recognized. She was beautiful—hair falling in careless waves, eyes wide and alive, lips caught in a smile that seemed meant only for him.
I gasped, dropping the photo onto the bedspread. My pulse hammered in my ears. The jewelry box was empty otherwise—no necklace, no ring, no token of us. Just her.
I heard the shower running in the bathroom. His voice hummed a tune, muffled by the spray. Normal, innocent, like nothing in our world was wrong. My hands shook as I picked up the photo again, flipping it over. A message was scrawled in his handwriting: “For when you miss me.”
My throat closed. The words blurred through my tears. For when you miss me? That wasn’t for me.
The bathroom door creaked open, steam spilling into the hallway. He stepped out, towel around his waist, hair dripping. His eyes found the box in my lap, then the photo in my hand. The color drained from his face.
“Clara—” he started, but I cut him off.
“Who is she?” My voice was ice.
He froze, his jaw tightening. “It’s not what it looks like.”
I laughed, bitter and sharp. “Don’t you dare. Don’t you dare feed me that line. Who. Is. She?”
His hands raked through his wet hair, water dripping onto the floor. He looked everywhere but at me. “She’s… she was someone I knew. Before.”
“Before what? Before me? Or during me?”
The silence between us was deafening. He swallowed hard, his chest rising and falling as if every breath was a battle. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” he muttered.
“It matters to me!” I screamed, shoving the photo at him. “You kept her picture in a jewelry box like some sacred treasure, while I—while I thought I was the only one you ever wanted.”
His shoulders sagged. “Clara, please… I loved her once. She’s gone now.”
The word gone twisted my insides. Dead? Or just out of reach? Did it matter? She lived inside him still, tucked away in secrets, in the space between us I never saw until tonight.
I pressed the box shut, my hands trembling. “You don’t keep photos of someone you’re over. Not like this. Not hidden, not cherished.”
He reached for me, but I pulled back. The towel slipped at his waist, his vulnerability exposed in more ways than one. “Don’t touch me,” I whispered.
I set the box back on the nightstand with shaking fingers. The sound of it hitting the wood felt final, like a gavel sealing a verdict.
“I thought you saved your heart for me,” I said, my voice breaking. “But now I know—you’ve always kept part of it for her.”
I left him standing there, dripping and speechless, as I walked out of the room. And the photo stayed behind, smiling up at him from the jewelry box, a ghost I could never compete with.
Final Thought
The worst betrayals aren’t always flesh and blood. Sometimes they’re the ghosts of past loves, preserved in hidden boxes and secret memories. I thought the jewelry box would hold a promise of us. Instead, it held proof that part of him was never mine.
