Her Mother wore it on special occasions. It burned as if lite from a fire with in. Under the candle light it sparkled so brightly that she would have to shield her eyes as she peeked around the corner into the dining room, on those nights her parents had one of their dinner parties. She wanted that ring so badly. When her parents were away she would sneak into their room and open the jewelry box on the dresser and try it on. She imagined herself older, dressed in a gown wearing that ring.
She sold it to the pawn shop when she was so desperate that it was either the ring or herself. When she went back for it years later it was gone. The pawnshop had no record of who had purchased it so there was no tracking it down. Every where she went after that she would look for the ring, every hand she shook, every glass of wine she passed to another, every sparkle that gleamed on another’s hand, she would look. Over the years she saw some very beautiful rings, but none that would ever compare to that opal ring of her mother’s.
