We agreed in principle that she would pay four hundred dollars per month toward the six-thousand-dollar amount, with the agreement reviewed and signed after we'd both had time to read it. She said she might need to take additional shifts at work, and I told her I'd rather receive smaller payments reliably than make an agreement she couldn't keep. We would keep receipts, use an electronic transfer service, and avoid attaching emotional messages to the transactions. The arrangement wasn't romantic, fairytale-like, or satisfying, but it was workable.
Then I asked about the ring. Kinsley's expression changed immediately, as though she'd been prepared for the money but not for the final symbol of our engagement to enter the conversation. She looked down at her bare left hand, and I noticed she'd taken the ring off. I couldn't tell whether that meant she was ready to return it or simply couldn't bear to wear it anymore.
"I need Grandma June's diamond back," I said. "You know why that matters to my family." She folded her arms and looked away, then told me the ring had been a gift and that I was the one who had canceled the wedding. For the first time in the meeting, her voice acquired the defensive sharpness I remembered from our worst arguments.
"Kinsley, I'm not trying to take away every memory you have of us," I said. "But the center stone belonged to my grandmother, and it was given in connection with our plan to marry. I've spoken with an attorney about handling the return if we can't agree. I'd much rather settle it here, respectfully, without making either of us pay to fight over something we both know has a family history." I kept my hands flat on the table so she wouldn't mistake the tension in my voice for a threat.
She stared at me. "You got a lawyer?" she asked, as if the act itself proved I'd stopped loving her. I said I'd consulted one because I wanted to understand my obligations before making demands, not because I wanted to threaten her. She looked down at her purse and was silent for so long that I began to wonder whether she'd left the ring at home.
Eventually, she reached inside and brought out a small box. I recognized it immediately, right down to the faint scratch across the lid from the afternoon I had dropped it while showing Wyatt the ring before proposing. She placed it on the table but kept her fingers on the top for a moment. Then she slid it toward me and let go.