A WAITER SERVED ME A DISH I DIDN’T ORDER

James and I were celebrating our fourth wedding anniversary at a restaurant—a cozy, dimly lit place that smelled of fresh-baked bread and expensive wine. It was the kind of restaurant that had just enough elegance to make an anniversary feel special without being over-the-top.

As usual, James had given me a gift, and as usual, it was a set of utensils. A high-end, stainless-steel set, sure, but still just utensils. Over the years, I’d gently hinted that I preferred jewelry, a spa day, or even just a handwritten note. But James was a practical man. In his mind, something useful was always better than something sentimental.

I had learned to accept it. Love, after all, was more than gifts.

While James excused himself to the restroom, the waiter arrived with a salad I hadn’t ordered. He leaned in slightly, his voice low and urgent.

“Don’t eat it. There’s a surprise from your husband.”

Excitement fluttered in my chest. This was unexpected. Had James finally picked up on my hints? Maybe this was his way of making up for the many birthdays and anniversaries filled with practical gifts.

I grabbed my fork, carefully shifting the lettuce, tomatoes, and feta cheese aside until I spotted something shiny at the bottom. My breath hitched. A ring. A stunning, sparkling diamond ring.

For a moment, my heart swelled with emotion. James had actually done something romantic.

Then he returned from the bathroom.

The moment he saw the ring in my hand, his face drained of color. His expression wasn’t one of joy or anticipation. It was confusion. No, more than that—he looked horrified.

“Where did you get that?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

I frowned. “The waiter brought it with the salad. He said it was from you.”

James shook his head, his eyes darting toward the waiter. Before I could process his reaction, the waiter was suddenly standing at our table, smirking.

“Don’t you recognize it?” he asked, his voice dripping with amusement.

I looked between the two men, my heart now pounding for an entirely different reason.

James’s hands curled into fists. His entire body tensed as if he were preparing for a fight.

“What the hell is this, Eric?” he growled.

Eric. The waiter.

Recognition dawned on me. Not immediately, but in fragments. Eric. A name I hadn’t heard in over a decade.

And then it hit me.

Eric was my first fiancé. The man I was engaged to before James. The man I left, without warning, six years ago.

“You…?” I breathed, staring at him in disbelief. You found me.”

His smirk widened. “Still love surprises, don’t you?”

I couldn’t speak. My mind reeled back to that time—when I had been young and uncertain, engaged to a man who was charming but unpredictable, and dangerous. The engagement had felt rushed, and before I knew it, I had called it off and disappeared from his life without an explanation.

I had never seen him again. Until now.

James was glaring at him, his jaw tight. “What are you playing at?”

Eric shrugged, feigning innocence. “I just thought she might want something sentimental for once.”

My blood ran cold.

I looked down at the ring again. It was familiar. Too familiar. Because it wasn’t new. It was the same engagement ring Eric had given me all those years ago. The one I had returned before vanishing from his life.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice steady but my hands trembling.

Eric’s smirk faltered just slightly, and for the first time, I saw something behind his eyes that I couldn’t quite place. Was it bitterness? Amusement? Or something darker?

“Just wanted to see if you still run from things,” he said. “Or if four years of married life changed you.”

James stood up so fast that his chair scraped loudly against the floor. “That’s enough. We’re leaving.”

Eric took a step back, hands raised in mock surrender.

“Of course,” he said, his smirk returning. “Enjoy your anniversary.”

I couldn’t move fast enough. James grabbed my hand, and we left the restaurant without another word. My heart pounded against my ribs, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that, somehow, we had just walked away from something dangerous.

It wasn’t until we were in the car, the city lights blurring outside the window, that James finally spoke.

“What the hell was that?”

I swallowed hard. “I didn’t know he worked there. I haven’t seen him since before I met you.”

James exhaled sharply, gripping the steering wheel. “That wasn’t just a coincidence. He planned that. The salad, the ring—it was all a setup. He knew things about us. I don’t like it.

I nodded, still shaken.

That night, long after James had fallen asleep, I sat awake in bed, the weight of the past pressing down on me.

Eric hadn’t just wanted to remind me of what I had left behind.

He had wanted to prove something.

And worst of all?

I had the sinking feeling that this wasn’t the last time we’d hear from him.