My aunt removed the diamond ring from my grandmother's finger on her deathbed, thinking she wouldn't notice. Two days after the funeral, a package arrived and made her pale.
My aunt Linda had coveted her for as long as I can remember.
My grandmother was the matriarch of our family, a woman who brought us together around Sunday roasts and her stern gaze. But as she lay frail and dying in her hospital bed, the only thing that seemed to interest my aunt Linda was the glimmer that shone from my grandmother's left hand.
It was THE ring.
A vintage two-carat diamond that my grandfather had given her upon his return from the Second World War. It wasn't just a piece of jewelry. It was a legend.
My aunt Linda had coveted her for as long as I can remember.
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