Mary removed the ring from her finger. She was alone in the dining room. Everyone else, including her fiancé Paul, were in the kitchen. She could hear the happy sounds of the small party resonating down the hall as she stood by the table. 

"Aren't they supposed to be golden brown before you take them out of the oven?" she heard Paul laughingly say to one of the others in the kitchen.

This voice -- recently so close, so close that the tender masculine tones seemed to originate within her own body. This voice that had completed her, had made her feel whole. She flushed.

Mary placed the ring on the dining room table, carefully guiding the fall of the ring with two fingers so that it made no sound as it touched down on the varnish surface. She place her hand tenderly over the warm metal for a moment. The ring, only two months in her possession, already held a frightening eternity of binding memories.

Again from the kitchen,  "No, you try them, you are the brave one." Laughter.

This was the committing thrust -- the finality that she needed. As she withdrew her hand, the ring gave a final shudder before it came to rest.

"What will I say if Paul comes back into the room?" she thought, mentally softening and controlling her pace towards the front door.