Their daughter.
The difficult years.
The happy years.
The accident that damaged the man’s finger.
The wedding band that no longer fit.
And the summer when a pale ring mark appeared on his sunburned hand.
I told him about a wife who thought her husband had fallen in love with someone else.
And how terribly wrong she had been.
Mark leaned forward.
He was listening closely.
“Had he stopped loving her?”
The question nearly broke me.
I shook my head.
“No.”
I squeezed his hand.
“He loved her so much that he was afraid of forgetting her.”
Mark looked down at the ring in his palm.
I continued.
“So he asked her to marry him again. Just to be sure she understood.”
He sat quietly for a moment.
Then placed the ring back around his finger.
He closed the hinge.
Click.
He smiled faintly.
“That’s a good story.”
