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.
