I took it home and hid it in my drawer. I didn’t tell a soul. Not my husband, not the neighbors, not even the people in our circle. I just kept it there, tucked away in the dark.

A month ago, Sarah came over for coffee. She was wearing a new ring on her finger. She told me Don had given her mother’s ring to her as a graduation gift. She was so proud of it. She held her hand out to show me.

I looked at it, and my stomach dropped. It was a fake. A cheap, glass imitation that wouldn’t hold up to a day of wear. I knew it the second I saw the setting.

I managed to smile and say it was beautiful. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that her father had sold the real one to a pawnshop for a handful of cash. How could I? She still thinks he’s the grieving husband who just wants to keep her mother’s memory alive.

Don is already engaged again, mind you. A woman from his office. I’ve seen them around town. They look happy. It makes me want to scream.

I’ve been sitting here with this secret for weeks. It’s like carrying a heavy stone in my pocket everywhere I go. I keep thinking maybe I should just let it go. Maybe it doesn’t matter. But then I think about Sarah.

She doesn’t know her father is a liar. She doesn’t know he traded her mother’s history for a few hundred dollars to pay off who knows what. And tonight, getting that text from her about the photo book, it felt like a sign.

I opened my phone again. My thumbs hovered over the keypad. I could just tell her.

I could send her a picture of the real ring. I could tell her exactly where I found it and what I paid for it.

But then I think about what it would do to her. She lost her mother. Does she really need to lose her father too? Is it my place to be the one to break her heart?

I haven’t slept more than four hours a night for a week. I keep going to the dresser and touching the ring. It’s cold against my skin. It feels like a piece of Patricia, and I’m afraid that if I give it to Sarah, I’m finally letting her go for real.

I’m sixty-eight years old. I’ve seen enough of life to know that secrets don’t stay buried. They have a way of crawling out when you least expect them to.

I think about Don. I see him at the grocery store, and he always waves. He acts like he’s such a fine, upstanding man. It’s enough to make my blood boil.

I know what I have to do. It’s not about the money. It’s not about the ring. It’s about the truth.