So I waited. A few days later, Katherine had to go out of town for work. Just two nights.
Before she left, she hugged me and said, “Don’t worry so much about me.”
I smiled and lied. “I never do.”
After she left, I made up my mind to do something small and loving. I had my own engagement ring tucked away in a velvet box.
My late husband gave it to me in 1972. I thought perhaps I could offer it to Katherine when she got back—if she wanted it. Replace the hurt of the lost ring with something real.
Something from family. Something that meant commitment, not theater. I was on my way to their building with the ring in my handbag when I saw him.
Walking toward the entrance like he didn’t have a care in the world. And on Matthew’s arm was a tall blonde woman in a red coat, laughing with her head tipped back while he kissed her temple.
