There was a document called VOWS — DRAFT 9.
Draft nine.
I didn’t open it. I couldn’t. Not yet. I felt like that belonged to him. Like it was something he should get to say out loud first.
And there was one more video. Shorter. Called RING.
I clicked it.
It was filmed on a phone. Shaky. Outdoors. I could see trees and water behind him. The lake.
Mark was holding up his left hand to the camera. On his ring finger was a band. Wide and gold, with a thin line of silver running around the middle.
“Okay,” he said, a little out of breath. He was smiling. A real smile. “So the jeweler made a test one. A practice ring. Just a cheap one, to check the fit before he makes the real thing. And Lee… it doesn’t hurt.” He laughed. “Twelve years, and it doesn’t hurt. He made it with this little hinge, see? So it opens up and closes over the knuckle.” He fiddled with it. “I’m gonna wear it all weekend. Make sure it’s right. Make sure I can fish in it and sleep in it and everything.”
