A Fake for the Most Precious Person
“*But the rings will be made by meremember that!*”
Oliver said it with such conviction, such boyish earnestness, that Emma couldnt help but laugh.
“*Ollie, weve only been dating for two months,*” she replied, lifting her coffee cup to hide her smile. “*Whats all this about weddings?*”
“*Ive seen how he looks at you,*” Oliver nodded knowingly. “*So get ready. And when it comes to the ringscome straight to me. Ill make you a masterpiece, I promise.*”
On her way home, Emma thought about how much their friendship meant to her. Oliver had been by her side for fifteen yearsever since university. Fifteen years of unwavering support and trust. When hed chosen to become a jeweller, shed been genuinely proud. Shed watched his workshop grow, his client list expand, his reputation flourish. His work had become well-known in London, and Emma often recommended him to friends.
Months later, when Daniel proposed, the choice of who would make the wedding rings was obvious. Who else would she trust?
Oliver pulled up a chair beside her, and they began sketching designs. Emma pointed out the lines she liked; Oliver suggested adjustments, refining the ideas. An hour passed in a blur. Several drafts lay on the table, but one stood outelegant, with intricate woven patterns.
“*This one will look stunning,*” Oliver tapped the sketch with his pencil. “*But its complex workwill take time. Might have to bump up the cost.*”
Emma hesitated. The wedding budget was stretched thin.
“*Ollie, what if I bring in my own gold to melt down? Would that lower the price?*”
“*Of course. If its good quality, proper hallmarks, then yes. Youd just pay for the craftsmanship.*”
Emma remembered her grandmothers jewellery boxa heavy antique bracelet, two delicate chains, a few rings. Shed never worn them. Melting them down for something meaningful felt right.
“*Alright. Ill bring the gold, you make the rings. Deal?*”
“*Deal.*” Oliver shook her hand. “*Ill make the best work of my life. For the most precious person.*”
A week later, Emma handed over the jewellery box. Oliver weighed each piece, checked the hallmarks, noted everything in his ledger. There was more than enough gold.
The wedding was perfect. Oliver was among the honoured guests, giving a heartfelt speech. Emma and Daniel exchanged ringsgleaming, engraved with “*Forever.*” For a moment, it seemed no two people could be happier.
The first month of marriage flew by in a whirl. Emma never took her ring off, admiring it daily. But one morning, she noticed an odd itch beneath the band. She rubbed her finger, assuming it was soap residue. By evening, red splotches had appeared.
“*Could be an allergy to something?*” Daniel suggested.
Emma applied cream and slept without the ring. By morning, the rash had faded. But the moment she put it back on, the itching returned. Days later, Daniel complained of the same.
“*This is strange,*” Emma said, examining both rings. “*Why are we having the same reaction?*”
“*Maybe the golds not right?*” Daniel frowned. “*Or the alloys off?*”
Emma refused to believe the worst. Oliver was her friendhe wouldnt cut corners. But unease gnawed at her. After a week of no improvement, she took the rings for an independent appraisal.
The jeweller inspected them under a loupe, weighed them, ran tests. Emma sat in the waiting area, flipping through a magazine without seeing a word. Dread coiled in her stomach.
When the jeweller returned, his expression was grim.
“*Straight to the pointthis isnt 18-carat gold,*” he said, sliding the report across the desk. “*Beneath a thin gold plating is a cheap nickel alloy. Thats whats causing the reaction. The hallmark doesnt match.*”
Emma stared at the numbers, the graphs, struggling to process.
“*So… theyre fakes?*” Daniel reread the findings.
“*Yes. Market value is a tenth of what you paid. And if you supplied your own goldit wasnt used. It was swapped for this alloy.*”
Emmas stomach turned. Her grandmothers bracelet, the chains, the ringsall gone. Instead of precious wedding bands, theyd been given cheap trinkets.
At home, Emma pored over the report, searching for a mistake. But the numbers were merciless. Oliver had cheated them. Stolen their gold, pocketed the difference. And smiled at their wedding. Given a toast.
Daniel was livid. They tried calling Oliverbut he avoided them. Had someone tipped him off?
Daniel went to the workshop. Emma stayed behind. He returned two hours laterdishevelled, his collar torn, a scratch on his cheek.
“*What happened?*” Emma jumped up.
“*He denied everything,*” Daniel said, pouring water at the kitchen sink. “*First said it was a mistake. Then yelled that wed brought him fakes. I showed him the reporthe tried to snatch it. Security broke it up.*”
Emma sank into a chair.
“*He filed a police report,*” Daniel sat opposite her. “*Accused me of assault. Said I threatened him, threw the first punch. But you know me, Emma!*”
The weeks that followed were a nightmare. A case was opened. Daniel had to attend interviews, gather witnesses.
Emma couldnt stay idle. Fury burned inside her. She found Olivers workshop page and wrote a detailed reviewjust facts. Described the rings, the swapped gold, attached the appraisal. Did the same on social media, local forums.
The next day, a message from her friend Lily:
“*Emma, maybe dont escalate this? Youve been friends for years. Surely you can sort it quietly?*”
“*I told the truth. I have proof.*”
“*But youre ruining his reputation.*”
“*He ruined it himself when he stole from friends.*”
Lily didnt reply.
Days later, their group chat exploded. People Emma had known for years sided with Oliver.
“*Appraisals can be wrong.*”
“*Why air this publicly? Sort it like adults.*”
“*So he skimped a bit. Friendships worth more than money.*”
Oliver was the life of their grouporganised meetups, gave discounts on jewellery. Nobody wanted to lose him.
One by one, friends turned away.
A week later, Emma was removed from three group chatsno warning, no explanation. She texted Sophie, her old flatmate:
“*Soph, whats going on? Why was I kicked?*”
“*You know why, Em. Olivers important to us. Youre attacking him. We dont want part in it.*”
“*Im not attacking. I told the truth.*”
“*Thats not how it looks. We dont believe you. Sorry.*”
Emma locked her phone, staring blankly at the wall. Fifteen years of friendshipgone.
Her birthday fell in early September. Usually, she booked a pub, invited everyone. This time, only three people came.
Her closest friend, Hannah, sent a cold message the day before:
“*Not coming. Had to choose between you and Oliver. I chose him. Sorry.*”
Emma read it again and again. No anger left. Just emptiness.
The court case dragged on for months. Security footage proved Oliver had instigated the fight. His claim was dismissed; Daniel was cleared.
Trying to press fraud charges failed. Oliver insisted the rings matched the order, called Emmas appraisal biased. Without seizing his stocklong since meltedproof was impossible.
Outside the courthouse, Emma sat on a bench. Daniel held her hand silently. Their friends were gone. The jewellery too. The rings sat in a box at homeunwanted, fake.
“*Lets go home,*” Daniel stood, offering his hand.
At home, Emma opened the box, staring at the rings. No one would wear them again.
The next day, they visited a high-street jeweller. Chose plain bandsno patterns, no engravings, but with certificates and receipts.
“*Shall I wrap them?*” the assistant asked.
“*No thanks. Well wear them now,*” Emma said.
She looked at her new ring. Simple. Untainted by greed. Her grandmothers gold was lost forever. So was Oliver. So were their friends. But Daniel was beside her. And for now, that was enough.
