Dinner ended soon afterward. On the drive home, he talked about parking.

When we stepped inside, I removed my shoes beside the door. He loosened his tie and said, “Don’t spend all night working yourself up over this.”

I looked at him.

“I’m not.”

“Good,” he said, and walked straight to bed.

I remained standing in the dark for a moment.

Then I went into the kitchen, opened my laptop, and pulled up our joint accounts, mortgage records, utility bills, and everything else I would need if the relationship was truly ending. Somewhere between the savings account and the homeowners insurance documents, I remembered Christmas at his parents’ house.

Elaine had taken me aside while everyone else argued over a board game in the living room. She touched my arm gently and said, “I hope that when you’re ready, you’ll give David the chance to make things official. He loves you very much.”

At the time, I smiled and assumed she was being old-fashioned. Sitting alone at the kitchen table, I realized she had not been guessing.

She had been repeating something she had been told.

I called her.

She answered after four rings, her voice heavy with sleep.

“Sarah? Is everything okay?”

“I need to ask you something,” I said. “And I need you to answer honestly.”

Silence followed.

Then she said, “All right.”

I told her what David had said during dinner, repeating his exact words. When I finished, she remained silent for so long that I wondered whether the call had disconnected.

Then she spoke very quietly.

“He told us you were the one who didn’t want to get married.”

I shut my eyes.

“He said marriage made you anxious. He said he didn’t want to pressure you. He said he was waiting until you were ready.”

A memory returned instantly, sharp and humiliating. Two Thanksgivings earlier, David’s sister had squeezed my hand and said, “You’re lucky he’s so patient.” I had laughed because I had no idea what she meant.

My fingers tightened around the phone.

Elaine released a shaky breath.

“Oh, David.”

Then she revealed something worse.

Three years earlier, David had asked her for his grandmother’s ring. He claimed he intended to propose during our trip to Maine that autumn. Elaine had the ring cleaned and appraised before handing it to him. She still had the receipt and a photograph she had sent her sister because she had been so excited.

The proposal never happened.

Whenever Elaine asked why, David told her I had panicked and begged him to wait. He claimed he was honoring my wishes. He repeated that explanation until everyone accepted it as truth.

I pressed my free hand against the table to steady myself.

Elaine said, “I’m coming over.”

“I don’t care.”

She arrived before the sun came up.

“I want it back from him,” she said.

When David wandered into the kitchen wearing sweatpants and looking half asleep, he froze in the doorway.

Elaine looked up at him.

He stared first at her, then at me, and finally at the documents spread across the table.

“What is this?”

Elaine raised the receipt. “It’s proof that I gave you your grandmother’s ring.”

His expression hardened. “This is private.”

“No,” Elaine said. “It stopped being private when you used her as your excuse.”

He turned toward me. “You called my mother in the middle of the night?”

I asked, “Where is the ring, David?”

He gave a strained laugh. “This is ridiculous.”

“Bring it here,” Elaine said.

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