In 1977, beside a lake as blue as the sky, with leaves twirling down like confetti, my smiling boyfriend placed a diamond ring on my finger. In the spring of 1978 a glittering wedding band was added and neither ring has ever left my hand. They have felt like constant friends.
The other night as I sat reading in bed, my rings caught my eye and I duly admired them, turning my hand to catch the light. Lovely. It occurred to me that I should take them to a jeweller and have the claws checked. How sad it would be to lose a stone.
The next evening as I sat in the same spot with the same book my subconscious self who is apparently scanning and noticing, jolted me out of my reading trance. I had a feeling of trepidation as I raised my left hand and slowly turned it over.
Gone.
Six tiny golden claws gripping absolutely nothing.
My husband was as stricken as I.
Isn’t losing something dear a jolt?
“It’ll be alright,” I said, “At least I still have you”
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