Since that day, I’ve been getting texts and emails from his mom, his sister, even his aunt.
All polite on the surface—”we understand you’re grieving, but the ring belongs to the family”—but underneath it all, they’re just trying to take it from me.
No one has asked how I’m doing. No one’s come to sit with me, to talk about Jake, to remember him as a person. They just want the ring. The thing.
But what about me? What about the nights I spend crying into his hoodie? What about the wedding dress I never got to wear? What about the life we were building—brick by brick—that got smashed to pieces?
