“Think of it as a favor to us, Mom. Besides, you’re practically retired now. You have the time.”

As they turned to leave, Chloe paused. Her eyes snagged on my left hand.

She pointed an acrylic nail at my diamond solitaire — the last fine jewelry I owned, the ring Ernest had slipped onto my finger forty years ago.

“You know, Mom,” she said, her tone dripping faux-sweetness, “since you’re officially retiring from being the matriarch, you really won’t need that ring anymore.

It’s just going to sit in a box gathering dust.

Austin and I are looking for seed money for a new boutique side business. It’s just lying there on your finger.