Vivian glances up briefly, her tone still even. “Let’s focus on getting it off first.”
Emma lifts a hand. “Right. Yes. Sorry. Continue.”
Vivian twists the ring carefully. Nothing. She tries again, slower this time. Still nothing. She studies my hand, then straightens slightly, already shifting the tray.
“Well. Okay.”
I don’t love the sound of that.
“Okay, what?”
She meets my eyes, steady. “I’m going to have to cut it.”
Emma’s laughter dies off instantly. “You’re going to what now?”
“It’s the safest option at this point,” Vivian says, calm, reassuring. “I’ll protect his finger, and I can repair the band afterward.”
Emma pushes off the counter, the humor gone just as fast as it came. “Wait, that’sthering.”
“I know,” Vivian says gently. “And I’m really sorry this is happening, but I promise you, it’s fixable. You won’t be able to tell once I’m done.”
Emma looks at the ring, then at me, then back at Vivian. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation. “I wouldn’t suggest it otherwise.”
Emma exhales, nodding once. “Okay, do it.”
“Thank you,” Vivian says, already moving again, her tone soft but efficient. “Ty, I need you to stay very still.”
“I have never been more still in my life.”
“Good,” she says, positioning my hand. “Because if you move, this gets even more complicated.”
“No pressure.”
Emma hovers now, no longer laughing, watching like she’s trying to will the ring off through sheer focus. “This is unbelievable.”
“You’re welcome,” I say.
She shoots me a look. “You’re never touching anything I own again.”
“That feels like an overreaction.”
“Even when I have kids, Ty. I promise you, you won’t touch your nephews or nieces.”
Vivian huffs out the faintest breath—almost a laugh, but notquite—as she brings the tool into place. “Alright. You’re going to feel some pressure, but it won’t hurt.”
“Love that,” I say.
“Be still,” she reminds me.
I lock every muscle in place. There’s a small, precise movement, then a bit of pressure followed by a sharpsnap. The tension in my hand releases instantly.
Vivian eases the band apart, sliding it free with careful hands before stepping back.
“And we’re done,” she says.
I flex my fingers once, then again, testing the movement. No resistance. No pressure. Just my hand, back where it’s supposed to be. No ring and all ten fingers accounted for.
