“Take that ring off my daughter’s hand,” I said.
But Robert picked up the now-empty ring box and slowly slid it across the table toward me.
“Open it first.”
“Open what?”
“The bottom of the box.”
I stared at him.
“Robert, I am not in the mood for games right now.”
“Neither am I.”
His voice was so serious that I finally picked up the box.
The velvet inside looked completely ordinary.
I pressed my finger against it.
The bottom lifted.
Underneath was a small piece of paper, yellowed with age.
The moment I saw the handwriting, my breath caught.
David stepped closer.
“That can’t be…”
“What?” Emma asked.
My husband took the note from my hand.
His face had gone pale.
“That’s my father’s handwriting.”
Parenting
Robert nodded for the first time.
Parenting
David’s father, George, had died when Emma was only seven months old.
He had worked as a jeweler for many years.
David unfolded the note and began to read.
“If Emma is already eighteen, then it means I wasn’t able to give her this gift myself.”
Emma immediately looked down at the ring.
No one at the table moved.
The letter continued.
Her grandfather had made the ring with his own hands only a few weeks after Emma was born.
Rings
But it was not an engagement ring.
It had absolutely nothing to do with marriage.
