“What’s going on?”
My sister-in-law immediately changed her expression.
“Nothing.”
I looked at him.
“She wants Mother's ring.”
He went silent.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then he rubbed his forehead.
“We discussed this,” he said.
My stomach dropped.
“You discussed this?”
He looked uncomfortable.
“I didn't say she should take it today.”
“But you knew.”
“Yes.”
I stared at him.
“Did Mom ever tell you she wanted her to have it?”
He hesitated.
That hesitation said everything.
“I don't know,” he finally admitted.
My sister-in-law stepped in.
“She always liked me.”
“She liked everyone,” I replied.
“That doesn't mean she didn't have preferences.”
“Did she tell you she wanted you to have it?”
My sister-in-law said nothing.
The room became silent.
Finally, my brother said, “Let's not fight about this today.”
I nodded.
“Fine.”
I turned to my sister-in-law.
“But the answer is still no.”
She glared at me.
“You’re going to regret this.”
At the time, I thought she meant the argument.
I had no idea how true those words would become.
The Velvet Box
That night, I stayed at my mother's house alone.
I couldn't bring myself to leave.
Everyone else had gone home.
The house was quiet.
Too quiet.
I walked through each room slowly, touching things almost unconsciously.
The kitchen counter.
The wooden armchair.
The curtains she had chosen herself.
Her books.
Her handwritten recipes.
I went upstairs and opened her bedroom closet.
Her clothes were still hanging there.
I found myself holding one of her sweaters against my chest and crying like a child.
Eventually, I sat on the edge of her bed.
The velvet box rested on the nightstand.
I opened it.
The ring caught the weak light from the lamp.
It looked exactly as it always had.
Old.
Elegant.
Familiar.
I picked it up.