Chapter 2 - The Ring That Hit the Floor
Gene stared at the red box like it had crawled out of the fire.
It was small, square, and wrapped in dark red velvet. Nothing flashy. No ribbon. No tag.
But my grandmother recognized it instantly.
I saw the color drain from her face before she even touched it.
“Ava,” Dad said quietly, getting to his feet. “Bring it here.”
But I didn’t move.
I had been told exactly what to do.
And for the first time in my life, I was not afraid of my grandmother.
Gene snatched the box before Dad could cross the room. She flipped it open with one hard motion.
Inside lay two things.
A folded card.
And my late grandfather’s family signet ring.
The ring that had vanished after his death.
The ring Gene had once claimed was “misplaced during the funeral chaos.”
The ring she had insisted no one would ever find.
Gene screamed.
It wasn’t a dignified gasp or a shocked whisper. It was a sharp, ugly scream—the kind people let out when fear hits before they can hide it.
Her fingers jerked open.
The ring slipped from her hand, struck the edge of the walnut table, bounced once, and skittered across the hardwood floor.
The sound it made—small, metallic, final—seemed louder than the Christmas music that had been playing all morning.
Dad stared at the ring.
Then at the card.
May you like
Then at his mother.
And before anyone could speak again, the front doors opened.
