When Adam proposed with a stunning vintage sapphire ring, I thought I was living a fairytale.

But six months into our marriage, his mother, Diane, decided it wasn’t mine to keep.

One evening at dinner, she watched my hand intently. When Adam and his father left the room,

she leaned in. “That ring belongs to our family,” she said coolly. “It’s not meant for someone like you.”

Stunned, I froze as she extended her hand. Without a word, I slipped the ring off and placed it in her palm,

retreating to the bathroom to hide my tears. “Don’t tell Adam,” she called after me. “It would only upset him.”

That night, I lay awake, feeling worthless, dreading the moment Adam would notice my bare finger. But the next

evening, when he arrived home, he wasn’t alone. His father, Peter, stood beside him, holding a small velvet ring box.

“I saw Diane take it,” Peter said firmly. “And I wasn’t having it.” Adam’s jaw tightened. “Why didn’t you tell me, Mia?”

“I didn’t want to cause problems,” I murmured. “She made me feel like I didn’t deserve it.” “That’s ridiculous,”

Adam said. “I gave it to you because I love you. It’s yours.” Peter nodded. “Diane admitted what she did,

but I made it clear—this ring belongs with you.” Adam knelt before me, opening the box. “Let’s try this again.

Marry me… again?” Through my tears, I laughed and held out my hand. “Yes. Always yes.”

As he slid the ring back where it belonged, I knew one thing for certain—we had each other