MY BOYFRIEND WAS WEARING MY DEAD BROTHER’S ENGRAVED WATCH AT DINNER
I saw the unmistakable gleam of the silver watch on his wrist the second he reached for his water glass. My fork clattered against the ceramic plate, loud in the sudden stillness of my own head. That was it, exactly. The heavy silver case I’d given him for graduation, the worn leather strap, the tiny engraving on the back I’d traced a thousand times over the years. Michael’s watch.
My heart hammered a frantic, panicked drumbeat against my ribs. David kept talking about his boring work day, completely oblivious, the warm candlelight reflecting off the polished metal on his wrist. I felt a sudden, icy dread wash over me, chilling me despite the cozy restaurant’s warmth. The air felt thick, suffocating.
“That watch,” I finally managed, cutting him off, my voice shaking slightly despite my effort to control it. “Where… where did you get that watch, David?” He stopped mid-sentence, his usual easy smile completely faltering. His body went rigid, like a deer caught in headlights. His hand instinctively covered the watch face, a small, telling movement.
He mumbled something vague about a friend, refusing to meet my gaze, picking nervously at a corner of his napkin. A friend? This wasn’t just *a* watch. Michael was my older brother. He died tragically eight months ago, and this exact watch was on his wrist in the casket. The blood drained from my face, leaving my skin cold and tight.
He cleared his throat, met my eyes, a chillingly blank look replacing all warmth.
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*”Michael’s watch, David. The one he wore. The one with the engraving I gave him.” My voice was now barely a whisper, laced with disbelief and a rising horror. “He… he was wearing it. In the casket.”
The candlelight flickered, casting dancing shadows that seemed to mock the stillness between us. David’s hand dropped from the watch, his face pale. He swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the restaurant like a cornered animal.
“I… I just… I saw it,” he stammered, his previous composure completely shattered. “At the house. During the… the viewing.” His voice was low, ragged.
My breath hitched. “At the house? Michael’s watch was on Michael. In the casket. I saw it. My mother saw it. Everyone saw it.” The denial was automatic, a desperate attempt to push back the monstrous implication.
He finally looked at me, his eyes wide with a mixture of shame and something I couldn’t quite name – desperation? Pleading? “No, after… after they brought him back from the funeral home. Before the viewing. It was… in his room. On the dresser.”
A cold, hard knot formed in my stomach. “That’s a lie, David. I was there. We went through his room. Everything was packed away or sorted. And *I* saw it on his wrist in the casket.”
He flinched as if struck. The chilling blankness returned, but this time it felt like a wall crashing down. “Okay, fine,” he said, his voice flat, devoid of emotion. “I took it.”
My world tilted. The noise of the restaurant faded completely. “You… you *took* it?”
“From the casket,” he admitted, the words barely audible. He didn’t look at me. “During the viewing. When everyone was… distracted. I just… I don’t know why. I saw it and I just… took it. I thought… I thought you wouldn’t notice. That no one would notice.”
The air left my lungs in a rush. It wasn’t just theft; it was a desecration. He had reached into my brother’s casket, at his viewing, surrounded by grieving family and friends, and stolen the watch that was meant to be buried with him. The man I loved, the man who had held me while I cried over Michael’s death, had done something so unspeakably dark, so profoundly violating.
I felt a wave of nausea so strong I had to grip the edge of the table. This wasn’t just a boyfriend wearing a watch. This was a stranger, a thief, someone capable of an act so callous and disturbing that it shattered the entire foundation of our relationship. The warm candlelight, the cozy atmosphere, his presence across from me – it all became grotesque, coated in the grime of his confession.
“Get out,” I said, the words raw and 칼날 같은. My voice didn’t shake anymore; it was hard, unforgiving. “Get out of my sight. Now.”
He looked up, his face etched with a twisted mix of fear and something akin to pathetic relief that the truth was out. “Wait, please,” he began, reaching across the table.
I recoiled as if he were poisonous. “Don’t touch me. Ever again. Get out, David. I don’t want to ever see you again.” Tears were streaming down my face now, hot and angry, not of sadness for Michael, but of absolute horror and betrayal by the man sitting opposite me. He rose slowly, fumbling for his jacket, the silver watch still gleaming mockingly on his wrist. He didn’t say another word, just turned and walked out of the restaurant, leaving me alone at the table, the ghost of Michael’s watch still shining in the candlelight, a horrifying testament to the man I thought I knew and the depths of what he had done. The dinner lay untouched, the taste of ash already in my mouth.