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