“I’d like that,” he said.

I watched him walk out to his car to get his bag. I stood at the door and watched the sun go down over the street. The neighborhood was quiet.

Everything looked the same as it had yesterday, but I knew it wasn’t.

I looked down at the ring one more time. It was just a hunk of gold with a red stone. It didn’t change the war. It didn’t bring back the friends I lost. It didn’t bring back my wife. But it was here.

I walked back into the kitchen and sat down at the table. I realized then that I had spent my whole life trying to forget the things I lost, thinking that was the only way to move forward. But this boy, he hadn’t forgotten anything. He had carried it all the way here just to make sure I knew it hadn’t disappeared.

I am sixty-four years old now. I have a lot of years behind me. I don’t know how many I have left, but I know one thing for sure. I’m going to take this ring to the jeweler tomorrow. I’m going to have it cleaned. I’m going to wear it until the day I die.

I closed my eyes and leaned back in my chair. For the first time in fifty-four years, I didn’t feel like I was waiting for something to happen. I felt like I was finally where I was supposed to be.

The boy came back inside. He looked at me and didn’t say a word. He just sat down and we talked about his grandfather, and about the rice paddies, and about everything that had happened in the time between us.

We talked until the light was gone and the house was dark. I don’t think I’ll ever sleep quite as soundly as I did that night. I had my ring back, and for the first time, I felt like I had finally come home too.