He held the ring toward me.
“Will you put it on, Lee?”
I opened the tiny hinge.
Carefully placed the ring around his crooked knuckle.
Then closed it.
A soft click.
The ring rested exactly where the pale stripe had been.
I looked up.
“Does it hurt?”
Mark studied his hand.
Then smiled through his tears.
“No.”
He held it toward the light.
“For the first time in twelve years, it doesn’t hurt at all.”
—
I hadn’t written any vows.
I’d had no idea what I would say.
But when Pastor Jim looked toward me, the words came.
“When you forget,” I whispered, “I’ll remember for both of us.”
Mark’s eyes filled.
“If you forget my name, I’ll tell you.”
I squeezed his hands.
“If you forget where we live, I’ll remind you.”
My voice shook.
“And if you ever wonder why you’re wearing that ring, I’ll tell you our story.”
