I always believed Derek was caring—until he sold my family’s heirloom ring while I was away on a business trip. It was a simple gold band with a small diamond, passed down from my great-grandmother. My parents gave it to us on our 10th anniversary, and I promised to treasure it forever.

When I returned, our modest living room had transformed into a gaming paradise—new TV, console, speakers. My heart sank. “Where did this come from?” I asked. Without even pausing his game, Derek replied, “I sold that old ring your parents gave us.” I was stunned. He shrugged and said, “It wasn’t worth much anyway.”

Heartbroken, I tracked down the ring at a pawn shop. It had already been sold—to Mrs. Peterson, a sweet elderly woman who turned out to be an old friend of my mom’s. She refused to sell it back, but my mom had a plan: teach Derek a lesson.

Mrs. Peterson invited Derek over and made him earn the ring back—through weeks of unpaid chores: yard work, cleaning, repairs. Exhausted after work each day, he toiled away, believing effort alone would be enough.

Finally, she returned the ring—but only after Derek sold his gaming setup and paid for it properly. That evening, he handed me the velvet box, eyes full of regret. “I got it back,” he said softly.

I thanked him, but made it clear: effort now doesn’t undo the betrayal. I handed him the divorce papers. He signed.

Because love without respect isn’t love at all. And I knew I deserved better.