Chapter 15
Owen asked about Daniel’s ring a month later.
He saw it inside a small box in my bedroom.
“Dad ring.”
“Yes.”
“Bad men take.”
“Yes.”
“Dad mad?”
That question hurt.
“I think Dad would be mad about what they did.”
Owen thought.
“Dad dead.”
“Yes.”
“He know?”
Children ask theology without warning.
I sat beside him.
“I don’t know.”
He accepted that better than adults usually do.
Then Piper joined us.
“Can I see?”
I handed her the ring.
Carefully.
She turned it between her fingers.
“Tiny.”
“It was Dad’s.”
“Why hole?”
I showed them the braided section.
Not the recordings.
Not the conspiracy.
Just enough.
“Dad hid something there because he wanted me to find a message later.”
Piper frowned.
“Why not tell you?”
Excellent question.
“I’m still annoyed about that.”
She laughed.
Good.
Dead husbands should not become saints merely because they died.
Daniel loved me.
Daniel also controlled information.
He believed secrecy kept us safe.
Sometimes it did.
Sometimes it left me eleven months behind my own life.
Both truths.
Owen held out his hand.
“Can I wear?”
“No.”
Immediate.
He pouted.
“It’s Dad’s.”
“Exactly.”
Then I reconsidered.
Not because of ownership.
Because I heard myself turning an object sacred.
I let him hold it against his finger.
Far too large.
He laughed.
Piper tried too.
Then gave it back.
No shrine.
Just their father’s ring.
I placed it in the box.
Not hidden.
Not locked.
That mattered.
May you like
Daniel had buried enough secrets with himself.
I would not continue the habit.
