'When I found out the truth about my engagement ring, I ended my relationship.'

I loved my engagement ring. When Dan* proposed, he slid it onto my finger under a beach sunset, and everything felt perfect.

I'm not a huge jewellery person, but this ring was more than a piece of jewellery; it was a piece of us, our story. A simple, delicate band crowned with a sparkling diamond, it was exactly what I would have chosen for myself.

My mum, who is a jewellery person, examined the ring gleefully, astounded at the quality of the diamond. I knew how special it was and it made me a little scared, so I wore my ring on special occasions, but I couldn't bring myself to wear it all the time, too scared to damage or lose something so precious.

Watch: What engagement rings look like through the decades. Post continues after video.

Dan used to laugh at me for it. "It's your ring, babe. It's meant to be worn! Show it off!" But I'd just smile, tuck it back in its box, and put it away for safekeeping after any big night out.

Years passed, we bought a little house, and life was moving forward as we dreamed it would.

While I was setting up the insurance for our new home, I learned that my ring could be covered under 'portable contents' and to do this I would need an evaluation. I'd never even considered insuring it before; I'd just assumed it would always be there, but it made sense to have it covered.

It was supposed to be a quick errand. Get the appraisal, tick it off the list. I'd even planned a quiet dinner with Dan that night, hoping to celebrate the "adulting" we'd done. But when the jeweller handed me the appraisal form, his eyes softened with something like pity.

"Ma'am, this stone… it's not a real diamond."

I remember blinking, like maybe I'd misheard him. "What? But… it was when I got it."

He just shook his head, choosing his words carefully. "The stone here is a high-quality cubic zirconia, but it's not a diamond." My stomach dropped, but I managed a polite thank you, left the shop, and sat in my car staring at the ring in its box. Now it felt like a stranger's ring. Somewhere along the way, it had been swapped for a fake.

That night, after a dinner filled with tense silence, I finally worked up the courage to confront Dan. "Dan, the jeweller says the diamond in my ring isn't real. Do you… do you know anything about that?"

He looked like a deer in headlights, frozen, then guilty. But he didn't deny it. "Look, babe, I can explain."

I folded my arms. "Go ahead, Dan. I'd love to hear this."

Dan fidgeted, running his hand through his hair, staring at anything but me. "It was years ago, okay? We were saving for the house. Money was tight, and I thought… well, you hardly wore it anyway, and I thought you'd never notice."

I just sat there, the weight of his words sinking in. I thought you'd never notice. "Dan, you sold my ring. You sold my ring and didn't even tell me?"

He held his hands up defensively. "I was doing it for us, for our future. I was going to replace it eventually. I just didn't think it was a big deal."

A big deal. The ring wasn't just a piece of metal and stone to me. It was a piece of us, a reminder of that perfect moment when we'd promised forever to each other. And he'd turned it into a transaction without so much as a word.

I looked at him, feeling anger and hurt and something I didn't quite recognise, maybe betrayal. If he would hide something as huge as this from me, what else would he hide?

"So this isn't even my ring anymore?"

"Of course, it's your ring, babe," he pleaded. "It's still the same ring. The diamond's just… well, it's not a diamond right now."

I couldn't breathe. I put the ring on the table between us, looking down at it, this hollow symbol of a love I thought I knew. Suddenly, all the times he'd brushed aside my concerns, all the little digs about my "sentimentality" started to take on new meaning.

The next few days felt like a bad dream, one where I kept hoping I'd wake up and laugh with Dan about how ridiculous it all was. But every time I looked at that ring, I was reminded of a truth that was impossible to ignore. It wasn't the ring that hurt - it was what it symbolised.

For Dan, it was just a rock. For me, it was a promise he'd casually decided didn't matter.

Eventually, I packed my things, handed him the ring back, and walked away. It wasn't an easy choice; we'd built a life together, and he was my person. But every time I thought about that ring, all I could feel was betrayal.

Listen to The Split, Mamamia's podcast for those who are undergoing separation and divorce. Post continues after audio.

What hurt the most wasn't that he'd sold the diamond. It was that he'd hidden it from me. That he'd made a decision about our life without even letting me in on it.

He kept calling, telling me he'd buy a new diamond, that he'd make it up to me. But the truth was, it was never about the diamond. It was about trust. About knowing that the person you loved was there with you, in every decision, in every struggle. And somewhere along the way, that trust had disappeared, quietly swapped out just like the diamond in my ring.

Some nights, I still think about what might have been if he'd just told me, if he'd let me in. But life has a funny way of forcing you to let go, even of the things you think you can't live without.

I'm moving on now, trying to rebuild a world that feels both familiar and foreign without him in it. But the one thing I know is that love, real love, doesn't need secrets.

As for the ring? It's his problem now.

*Name has been changed due to privacy.

The author of this story is known to Mamamia but remained anonymous for privacy purposes.

For more real-life stories, read these pieces next:

Feature image: Getty.