I found a strange ring in my husband’s car and it turned my life upside down.

When Jane’s husband, Patrick, begins paying more attention to his phone than to her, she suspects him of ch/eating. Then, things get heated when she finds a mysterious ring under the seat of his car.

Recently, everything about my husband looked strange. Patrick, who had before been an open book to me, had become a mystery. He changed from not caring about his phone when we were together to being obsessed with it, guarding it like it was a valuable secret. 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 after that conversation, Patrick told me to use his car for work.

“Use mine, darling,” he said, after I mentioned that stopping at a gas 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 it?

I started the car and began driving to work, while questions started to flood in. Was there someone else? Had Patrick’s late nights and guarded phone been for another woman? Who was at the end of his hushed phone calls?

I walked into my office feeling the weight of Patrick possibly cheating on me. My 30th birthday was coming up soon, and Patrick told me that he planned something big.

But what if he wouldn’t be around long enough to celebrate with me? What if he was going to leave 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 got home, Patrick was cooking dinner, but the moment he switched the stove off, he put on his shoes.

“I need to see my Mom; she wanted some help with things around the house. I’ll be home soon,” he said, walking out the door.

I paced around the house, waiting for something to happen. I almost phoned Patrick’s mother to see if he had really gone to her.

“Keep it together, Jane,” I told myself, and helped 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 words were a shock to my system. It couldn’t be a coincidence.

So, the woman I suspected my husband of cheating with was not a stranger but my best friend?

I needed answers.

After calming Monica down and suggesting that a quick fix would be to put her hand into plain yogurt, I asked her, tentatively, why she was in such agony.

“I… I don’t know, Jane. It just started a few seconds after I put the ring on. Patrick didn’t know what to do either, so he said to call you,” she said, gasping when she realized she had given herself away.

“My goodness, 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.”

I spent the next few days planning a special dinner for the three of us, wanting to make sure that Patrick and Monica knew that I wasn’t harboring any hard feelings.

“I need to apologize to both of you. I let my insecurities get the best of me and jumped to the worst conclusions.”

My husband reached across the table, taking my hand in his.

“It’s okay, love. What matters is that we’re honest with each other now. Here, I want you to have this.”

Patrick presented the ring again—cleaned and its sparkle undiminished by the ordeal.

“You can have it now, instead of on your birthday,” he grinned.

My bonds with Patrick and Monica were definitely tested, but in the end, the truth made us stronger together.

And, I still have my birthday party to look forward to.

What would you have done?