"Very different."
He was quiet for a moment. "You're going to marry her."
It wasn't framed as a question.
"Yes," I said. "I am."
My father nodded slowly. "Good. Don't wait too long. Life is short." He glanced at me. "You almost lost her once. Don't make the mistake of thinking you have forever."
"I won't."
He clapped me on the shoulder—the same gesture he'd used my whole life, solid and grounding. "Your mother approves. I approve. The rest is up to you."
After Ava left for her shift, I pulled the velvet box from my sock drawer.
The ring inside was modest—a simple diamond on a white gold band. I'd saved for months to buy it. Back when I thought Carmen was the one. When I thought loving someone meant giving them everything and hoping it was enough.
It hadn't been enough. Not for her.
But she wasn't Carmen. She had never asked me to be anyone other than who I was. She had never looked at my life and found it lacking.
She deserved more than a ring meant for someone else.
The next morning, I drove to the jeweler in Astoria where I'd bought the original ring. The same woman was behind the counter—older now, her hair more gray than brown, but with the same sharp eyes.
"I remember you," she said. "The firefighter. You bought an engagement ring, what, three years ago?"
"Almost six years now."
She shook her head. "And you never came back for a wedding band. I wondered what happened."
"She left."
"Ah." The woman's expression softened. "I'm sorry."
"Don't be. It wasn't meant to be." I set the velvet box on the counter. "I want to trade this in. For something different. Something better."
"Better how?"
I thought about Ava. About her sharp mind and soft heart. About the way she looked in the morning, hair messy, eyes still soft with sleep. About the strength it took to let someone in after years of keeping everyone out.
"Something that says forever," I said. "Something that says I see you for who you are."
The jeweler studied me for a moment. Then she smiled.
"I've been doing this for forty years. Most men come in knowing exactly what they want. Carat. Cut. Price point." Sheleaned forward. "You're the first one who's told me what he wants it to mean."
"Is that good?"
"It's the only thing that matters."
An hour later, I walked out with a new ring. A different one. An emerald-cut diamond on a platinum band, simple and elegant, with small stones along the sides that caught the light like stars.
It cost more than I'd planned. More than I should have spent.
It was worth every penny.
There was one last thing I needed to do.
