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I look down at the ring. I don’t want it back in the drawer.

That decides it.

I toss the ring into the fire. It disappears between two glowing logs. My empty hand stays extended for a second longer than it needs to.

There’s no great rush of freedom. My fingers feel the same. The fire keeps burning. I turn my palm over. My hand looks strangely ordinary without the ring.

Then Blair raises her cup. “Financially inefficient, but emotionally satisfying.”

“You really are a divorce lawyer.”

“I’ve worked hard at it.”

Janet leans sideways, trying to see through the flames. “Do you think we’ll have to dig it out tomorrow?”

“Probably.”

For a few seconds, it’s exactly what it should be: five women around a fire, a terrible wicker bear in front of us, and my wedding ring getting smoked rather than burned because symbolism still has to obey basic metallurgy.

Then Shannon says, “You should make a wish.”

I turn toward her. “Oh, is it my birthday?”

“You just threw your wedding ring into a bonfire.”

“She has a point,” Laura says.

“Fine.”

I look into the fire and try to think of something funny. A winning lottery ticket. A man with references. Equal shoulders for the cryptid. But the jokes don’t come.

The woods are dark behind the bear. The cottage has cameras, reinforced locks, and a handgun in the bedroom, but here there are four women close enough to hear me if my voice changes. Four women who would notice if I got scared. I don’t have that everywhere.

A car passes on the road beyond the cottage, and my stomach clenches before the sound fades. My phone is face-down beside my chair, but I can still remember the sharp jump under my ribs when DO NOT ANSWER lit the screen earlier. Saying any of this out loud makes the back of my throat feel scraped raw.

I stare into the flames, waiting for one of the funny wishes to come back. None does. The blank space where the joke should be leaves only the thing I actually want.

“I wish I could sleep without listening for footsteps.”

The words leave me exposed in a way the ring didn’t. My chest goes tight around the next breath, and I keep my eyes on the fire because I can’t look at any of them yet. I’ve told these women what Trent was like, but this is different. This is admitting that even alone, even divorced, some part of me still lies awake waiting for him, fearing him.

Laura’s fingers close briefly around my forearm. Nobody laughs. For another heartbeat, the night stays ordinary. Smoke drifts toward the trees. An insect buzzes near my ankle. Somewhere to my right, Janet’s pretzel bag gives a faint crinkle and then goes still.

Then the fire goes silent.

Not quieter. Silent.

The absence hits before I understand it. Every tiny pop and hiss vanishes at once, and my skin prickles from my wrists to the back of my neck. I hold perfectly still, listening for the next crackle that doesn’t come.

For a second I wonder if something has happened to my hearing. Then Shannon’s cup slips from her hand and lands softly in the grass, and the sound is so clear that I turn toward her. She’s staring at the fire.

A narrow line of flame rises straight from the center, too bright and too still. Inside it, for one impossible second, I can see the outline of my ring.

“Rachel,” Laura whispers, the word barely audible beneath the fear in her voice.

White flame closes around the ring. When it thins again, the space between the logs is empty.

A sharp crack comes from the edge of the firelight, and every head turns toward the wicker bear. His whole body is trembling.