Prue thought she’d found the perfect birthday gift—a plum satin skirt she’d once admired—hidden in her closet. But when her birthday came, the skirt never appeared. Days later, she checked again: it was gone. She said nothing, choosing hope over suspicion.
Months passed. Then one afternoon, her son Luke confessed: he’d come home early one day, heard voices, and hid under the bed—only to see a woman, not Prue, wearing the same skirt with Prue’s husband. He hadn’t seen her face.
At her husband’s birthday party, Prue hosted with grace and calm. Then Luke pointed out a guest—Christopher’s assistant, Penelope—wearing the skirt. Prue approached her with a bright smile and a cutting question. “Funny thing,” she said, “I had a skirt just like that. It vanished.”
The confrontation unfolded in front of their guests. Christopher claimed the skirt was a “gift for good work.” Prue revealed she knew better—and that Luke had seen everything. The room went silent. Penelope’s husband stepped away from her. The party ended. So did the marriage.
Prue quietly filed for divorce. She and Luke moved on, stronger. And Prue? She bought that same skirt—in every color. Because if anyone was going to spoil her now, it would be herself.