A gold ring lay inside the bag.
He held it but didn’t let go when I looked for it.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he said. “I should have checked the cameras. And after seeing this…” she swallowed. “I think you need to see this.”
Then he let go.
A gold ring lay inside the bag.
For a moment I couldn’t breathe.
It belonged to my mother.
The thin band was scratched near the setting. Three small diamonds surrounded a pale blue stone and one of the golden tips was slightly bent inward.
I knew every imperfection. I had looked at photographs of that ring until the image followed me in my dreams.
It belonged to my mother.
I had used it every day for twenty-three years. She slept in it, showered in it, and even kneaded bread with it on. After her disappearance, we found her bag, her clothes and her jewels intact at home.
Only the ring was gone.