My Ring, Her Other Man

e space was my sanctuary, the one place that was truly mine, filled with the scent of paper, wood, a

ver the do

ng it was the courier co

ed to

froze, my hand hovering over a scal

e cashmere sweater. She had sunglasses on, even though it was overca

sses, and her eyes were r

he model carefully into a box. "The

echoing on the concrete floor. She reached out and put her hand on my arm. Her

ou," she

but with a cold finality. "No, you do

. "I love you. You know I do. That whole thing wi

flat. "You call a nationally televised propos

sual excuse. "Don't you remember our dreams? We said we'd do whatever it takes to get to

nto the narrative she had written for us. But the words were

touch with yours," I

n't be ridiculous. We don't need lawyers. We

"I'm packing my things from the apartm

re?" she

longer yo

matic, be dramatic. But you have to come back to the apartment with me. The paparazzi are camped outside. If w

over me. I knew she was right about the photographers. I didn't have the energy to fight her on t

, my voice tig

She turned on the radio, and one of her own songs came on, a ballad about undying love and faithfulness. The iron

reer, and wasted a decade of my life. I couldn't wait to see it in my rearview mirror. The woman next to