Inside the box rested a thin gold wedding band—smaller than mine and worn smooth with time. Beneath it lay a folded note written in Walter’s familiar handwriting.
For one terrible moment my heart raced with fear.
“Mama?” Ruth asked softly. “What is it?”
I stared at the ring.
“This isn’t mine,” I whispered.
Toby looked confused. “Grandpa left you another ring?”
I shook my head slowly. “No, sweetheart. It belongs to someone else.”
I turned to Paul, my voice tight.
“Why would my husband have another woman’s wedding ring?”
Around us, conversations faded and chairs shifted quietly. People tried not to stare, but they were all listening.
After seventy-two years of marriage, I suddenly wondered if there had been a part of Walter’s life I had never known.
Continue on the next page:
