Throughout my childhood, Grandma would look at that simple gold band and smile softly.
“One day,” she’d say, “we’ll have the wedding we never got.”
Two years ago, they finally began saving for it.
Nothing extravagant—just a modest gathering at the local community center, some flowers, music, cake, and the people they loved most.
They called their savings the “Happily-Ever-After Fund.”
Grandma kept the cash inside an old floral tin, hidden high in the linen closet. Grandpa slipped in part of his pension every month. Grandma added tips from the thrift shop where she volunteered.
By spring, they had nearly five thousand dollars.
When Grandma announced it at Sunday dinner, her joy was contagious. Everyone cheered.
Everyone… except my aunt, Zeryn.
She smiled, but something about her expression made my stomach twist.
