My aunt removed the diamond ring from my grandmother's finger on her deathbed, convinced that no one had noticed anything. Two days after the funeral, a package arrived, making her turn pale.

The following Sunday, I cooked.

You told the truth tonight. Keep doing it.

No response.

I did not pursue her.

The following Sunday, I cooked.

I set the table.

Grandma wanted us to be at the same table.

I lit the candle that Grandma always lit.

Linda's chair was empty.

We did eat, though.

Not because everything was ready.

But because Grandma wanted us to be at the same table.

And because for the first time in a long time, no one claimed that glass was a diamond.