The Jewelry Was Fake, But My Rage Wasn’t

Summary

On our fifth wedding anniversary, my mother fell critically ill.

In desperation, I had no choice but to sell the gold jewelry Alexander Thorne had given me when we got engaged.

At current market prices, it was worth about $90,000, just enough for my mother’s surgery.

But before I could even breathe a sigh of relief, the sales associate looked at me with disdain.

“Ma’am, these pieces are fake. They’re worth less than two thousand dollars, at best.”

“Fake?”

I froze, stunned.

Before I could process it, a familiar female voice suddenly drifted over—