“It’s not the ring that matters—it’s us.” Though his words were tender, a small ache always lingered in her heart. After his passing, while sorting through his things with their children, Maria opened an old wooden drawer and found a small box hidden beneath a stack of letters. Inside lay the missing ring—untarnished, waiting—and a folded note written in his familiar hand.
“I never wore this ring because I wanted to keep it safe,” the note read. “Love isn’t proven by a piece of gold. It lives in every day I chose you.” Tears filled Maria’s eyes as she pressed the ring to her chest, realizing he had carried his love in his actions, not his jewelry. That night, she slipped the ring onto her finger and whispered, “Now I’ll wear it for both of us.”
