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Always.
At restaurants.
At the gym.
Around the house.
Even when we went to bed.
The first time I asked about it, he became uncomfortable.
“A motorcycle accident,” he said.
“Was it serious?”
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He nodded.Sofas & Armchairs
“Years ago.”
I noticed that his eyes dropped toward the sleeve.
“It left a pretty bad scar.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged.
“I don’t like people looking at it.”
I understood.
Some scars are more painful emotionally than physically.
One evening, several months into our relationship, I gently asked:
“Would you ever let me see it?”
His entire expression changed.
“Please don’t.”
I immediately backed off.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pressure you.”
He took my hand.
“I’m just not ready.”
So I never asked again.
Four months after we met, Peter proposed.Dictionaries & Encyclopedias
It happened on a rainy Friday evening.
He had prepared dinner at home.
There were candles everywhere.
After dinner, he took my hand and got down on one knee.
I was shocked.
It felt fast.
But by then, I was deeply in love with him.
I said yes.
The engagement ring was beautiful.
A simple diamond surrounded by tiny stones that caught the light whenever I moved my hand.
I couldn’t stop looking at it.
For the next week, I walked around feeling like I was living inside a dream.
Then Peter asked me to meet his parents.
We drove to their house on a Sunday afternoon.
His parents lived in an old two-story home outside the city.
His mother, Margaret, was warm and talkative.
His father, Robert, was quieter.
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They welcomed me immediately.Writers Resources
Dinner was wonderful.
After dessert, Peter suggested showing me his childhood bedroom.
“Come on,” he said. “I want to show you something.”
We went upstairs.
His old bedroom hadn’t changed much.
There were photographs on the walls.
School trophies.
An old guitar.
Books stacked in the corner.
And an ancient brown couch beneath the window.
Peter smiled.
“I spent half my childhood on this thing.”
I sat down.
He laughed.
His mother suddenly called from downstairs.
“Peter! Can you help your father with the cabinet?”
“Coming!”
He turned to me.Law Enforcement
“I’ll be two minutes.”
He kissed my forehead.
Then he disappeared downstairs.
I sat alone on the couch.
I looked at my engagement ring.
I twisted it around my finger.
The diamond caught the afternoon light.
Then, somehow, it slipped.
“Peter?”
I stood immediately.
The ring had disappeared between the cushion and the armrest.
I panicked.
That ring meant everything to me.
I dropped to my knees and reached into the narrow gap.
My fingers searched through dust and old fabric.
Nothing.
I pushed deeper.
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Then my fingertips touched something cold.Marriage
I grabbed it.
It wasn’t my ring.
It was a small metal box.
It had been wrapped tightly inside a plastic grocery bag and pushed deep into the couch.
I stared at it.
For a moment, I considered putting it back.
I knew it wasn’t mine.
I knew I shouldn’t open it.
But curiosity won.
I pulled the box toward me.
There was no lock.
I opened the lid.
And screamed.
The sound was so loud that I immediately covered my mouth.
Inside the box were photographs.
Dozens of them.
Some were old.
Some looked much newer.
There were driver’s licenses.
Passports.
A small stack of handwritten notes.Engagement Rings
And several pieces of jewelry.
But the photographs were what made my blood run cold.
They showed women.
Different women.
Some standing outside restaurants.
Some entering apartments.
Some sitting in cars.
Some smiling.
Some crying.
I picked up one photograph.
On the back was a date.
And a name.
Another photograph.
Another woman.
Another date.
Then I saw Peter.
In one photograph, he was standing beside a woman I had never seen before.