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He’s brushing his knuckles over my cheek, and I’m gripping his arm like I want him to stay right there, like that, forever.
And the look on his face…
I press my fingers harder against my lips.
His look is one of sadness.
If you didn’t know him, you might think it was affection. But I’ve seen Dominic’s expressions, and the one in the photo, the one he was feeling on our wedding night, was sadness.
My hand starts to shake too much, and I have to set the frame down.
Bibi says something, and I see Dominic hand her the photo.
How are there even photos?
Why would he give that to me?
And why did he look so sad?
“If we’re doing gifts now.” Dominic’s mom pulls a tiny gift box out of her purse and sets it on the table in front of me. “I know you two decided to do tattoos. But I want you to have this.” She nudges it a little closer to me.
Half-numb, I reach out and pick up the box.
I untie the red ribbon, then slide the lid off, and the tiny amount of composure I have left cracks down the middle.
Sitting alone at the bottom of the box is a ring.
I take it out with numb fingers.
The thick band is polished gold with swirling engravings twisting around the thin row of diamonds circling the ring. And in the center of the band is a large, sparkling diamond.
It’s stunning.
Beautiful.
It’s the vintage version of the ring I threw onto the highway. Different, but too similar to be a coincidence.
“It belonged to my mother. And now it belongs to you,” Bibi says, like it’s as easy as that.Here, take this amazing and priceless heirloom.“I know you kids nowadays like to do your own thing, so no pressure if it’s not your style,” she continues, being so nice and making me feel like an asshole. “But maybe you could use it for special occasions.”
“It’s perfect.” I hold it up a little, and the light catches the gorgeous diamond as the ring trembles in my grip. “I love it. Thank you,” I practically whisper.
“I’m so glad,” Bibi exclaims, and Dom’s aunt makes a cooing sound.
I move to put it on but realize it won’t fit on my ring finger, so I slip it onto my pinkie. “I’ll have to get it resized, if that’s okay.”
Bibi is tiny, so if this last belonged to her, it’s no surprise it’s too small for me.
“Of course.” She flutters her hands. “If I’d been thinking, I would’ve done that for you.” Then she turns her gaze to Dom, narrowing her eyes. “Or ifsomeonehad told mebeforeyou got married, I could’ve had it ready for you then.”
I almost wince, thinking about how horrible it would’ve been to have thrown this ring out the window. And I’m eternally grateful that Dom didn’t tell his mom ahead of time.
“Either way, it’s yours now,” she tells me. “And you can keep it until your daughter gets married.”
Her statement is so casual, but it shatters my abused heart into a thousand pieces.
My daughter.
My head tips down as I squeeze my eyes shut.
