Pearls start as humble grains of sand.
Sitting before her dressing table, Jean stroked the dark strand of Tahitian pearls she wore.
Lucien had surprised her with the necklace as a Christmas in July present. "When I saw them in the shop window, I thought they'd look lovely against your skin," he'd husked as he'd fastened it around her neck. "And they do."
She shouldn't wear it in public, but she found herself wearing it near daily, to the shops, ignoring curious comments at church, even to a boxing match. It was the sort of piece that a doctor's wife wore. She was transforming from an ordinary housekeeper.
For their tenth anniversary, Christopher had given her an obligatory strand of cultured white pearls with a peck on the cheek. He'd whispered, there'll be something more for you later, as though his half-hearted caresses were to be looked forward to now that the blush of first love was gone.
She rose and put a satin dressing gown over her new sheer nightdress. Padding downstairs, she stood before Lucien's door and fingered the pearls again. Finally, she knocked. She heard his nearing footfall, and her nervousness disappeared when she saw his shocked expression.
"Jean?"
"You didn't kiss me goodnight."
Tension in the air all evening. A sort of anger, unspoken fury knotting low in her belly, gazes locking before turning away. She hadn't been surprised when he suddenly fled the lounge with barely a goodnight tossed over his shoulder.
"Sorry." He didn't move.
She put her hand on his chest. Only then did his mouth seek hers. The heel of her palm pressed into his sternum, breaking their lips' seal and pushing him into his room. "I never gave you your gift."
From pain comes beauty; a jewel forms around an irritant.