The woman standing in front of me is regal and beautiful, even at middle age. After 28 years of marriage, her husband is leaving her. She mentions it quietly, ashamed of her newly single status. Her rings sit in front of me, resting top-down on the black velvet pad that I’ve just pulled out. The symbolism is staggering to me- funereal and final. I am about to melt the rings down, reforming the gold into a shape that is not a wedding band. There are a few small diamonds in the engagement ring, diamonds that carried her down a white-decked aisle so very many years ago. She has never asked for more than the simple sparkling stones on her hand, and never received any more. To these diamonds, I will add the birthstones of ...


