Regan had been carrying the ring for weeks. It sat in his pocket like a secret heartbeat, heavy and reassuring, a promise pressed into metal and time. The small velvet box had worn smooth against his fingers from countless nervous touches, its edges familiar now as his own skin. He had chosen it carefully during his last trip to town—spending an entire afternoon walking between the two modest jewelry shops, comparing bands and stones with the intensity of a man whose entire future hung in the balance.
The ring itself was simple, just as he had always known it should be. A delicate band, strong enough to withstand years of vineyard work, with a tiny inset of green stone the exact color of the vineyard in spring when the new leaves unfurled like prayers toward the sun. Nothing flashy, nothi
