Mary stared down at the ring in her hand. It still had a gleam that caught the eye, even after thirteen years. Long years. She clenched her fist, feeling the small gold band dig into the skin of her palm. Relaxing her fingers, she again looked down, her expression blank as she considered the idea of simply going out of the door and just keeping on walking. How long would it be before she got tired and had to lie down? How long before she got hungry? How long before she starved to death? Still she sat.
Mary held the ring between finger and thumb, staring hard as its curve shone in the sunlight pouring through the window. She thought back to the day she had shone, as she stepped down the aisle, the joy radiating from her so much so that her friends still spoke about it sometimes, even now. But that was thirteen years ago. Long years. How long had it taken for the interest to wane? How long to realise that boredom was the best that she could hope for? How long before she’d realised that he felt the same? Still she sat.
Mary placed the ring on the bedside table. Out of the light it looked dull, unimpressive, the weight of commitment pulling the brightness from it. Thirteen years of commitment. Long years. She imagined telling him she was leaving, that she needed something more. She imagined how he would react if she told him how she felt, or how she no longer felt. How long would the thunderstorm argument last? How long would she have to stand the silence that followed? How long before she could summon the strength and courage to support the words with action? Still she sat.
Picking up the ring, Mary walked to the door. Opening it, she stood for a moment, considering the man in the comfy armchair. Making her decision, she placed the ring on her finger, smiled and greeted him.
“Happy anniversary darling.”