She glanced down at her coffee.
“When he told me he had proposed, I was happy for him. I really was. But when I heard about the ring, all I could think about was the fact that Mom would never be here to see him get married.”
Her eyes became wet.
“I think part of me felt that if the ring left the family, another piece of her would disappear.”
I understood that feeling more than I expected.
Grief could make ordinary objects feel sacred. A photograph, a handwritten note, or an old piece of jewelry could suddenly become a bridge to someone who was no longer there.
I reached across the table.
“I understand why it matters to you,” I told her. “And I don’t want you to feel that Daniel and I are trying to take your mother’s memory away from you.”
She looked at me.
“But I also need you to understand that I was hurt by what happened. I didn’t know anything about the disagreement, and I was left wondering whether Daniel still wanted to marry me.”
