Forever.

It’s dark down here.

Dust has accumulated all over me, hiding what was once a beautiful, golden luster. Occasionally I’m hit with a blast of air - sometimes hot, sometimes cold. It makes the particles fly all around, and for a moment I feel like my old, clean self again; but it’s never long before they settle and camouflage me once more into my surroundings.

It wasn’t always like this. Once, shortly after my creation, I gleamed so brightly I reflected like a mirror. I sat nestled into a soft cushion beneath the safety of a glass dome, where admiring eyes appreciated the craftsmanship of my design day in and day out. My partner was always by my side; her curves and details certainly more feminine than mine, but unmistakably my match. We were the perfect pair; built to complement one another, and made to be sold together.

We weren’t in the display case for very long before being picked out by an excited couple. From what I gathered, they had been looking for a long time, but struggled to find a matching set they each liked. I was honored that my partner and I were exactly what the two of them were looking for. The decision was made quickly, and soon we were etched with initials and dates: C & S 11.10.18.

Admittedly, it was a long wait for 11.10.18 to come around. It was dark then, too, but the difference was I was kept in a safe place. It was a comfortable surface not unlike where I spent my early days before C, Chad, picked me out. I waited patiently for the day when I could be let out of my temporary home and back into the world, and rejoined with my partner.

The day finally came. My partner looked beautiful on the ring finger of S, Saira. We were finally reunited, freed from our boxes and out where we truly belonged. It was just like my days in the display case; many oohs and ahhs over my design and how perfectly us two rings went with one another. I relished in the comforting words of the ceremony; words like “forever” and “always”. We found our home, and we would have a good life together; just like Chad and Saira.

Things were great for many months. I was worn every day, taken off only for showers and workouts (which was fine by me; water and I have never been too agreeable). At night, I was left in a shallow ceramic dish on the vanity next to my partner; it was not as comfortable as the places I’d previously been kept in, but we were together. We were loved by the people who owned us. We were happy.

Eventually there was a…shift. Chad would still put me on every morning, smiling at Saira as he did; but more and more often I’d be shoved into a pocket as soon as he left the house. I would have almost preferred the ceramic dish to the stuffiness of the denim cave, but I had little choice in the matter. I didn’t understand why Chad didn’t want to wear me...sure, I was no longer brand new; there were small scuff marks on my surface, as is to be expected over time with fine gold. But Chad took care of me. I still gleamed, back then.

On the bright side, I was fairly confident Chad wasn’t trying to replace me, even with the growing infrequency with which I was worn. I noticed his silicone gym band was getting “accidentally” left behind consistently, too. No, if he wanted to replace us with something new, he would have done it. Surely Chad wouldn’t continue to bother putting me on every morning if he had simply changed his mind about my design. And yet, it was perplexing. Why keep me if he no longer liked how I looked or how I felt?

The day I was lost, it was truly just an accident. I know, because of how frantically Chad searched for me before Saira came into the bathroom. He had taken me out of his pocket and set me on the counter - several inches away from the dish - and moved on to his other tasks. I waited patiently; I knew I’d make it into the dish eventually. Saira would move me to the proper spot when Chad inevitably forgot to do it himself, muttering softly under her breath about his lack of responsibility as she did so.

But on this particular day, I was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. A careless bump from Chad’s arm as he reached for some mouthwash sent me flying in a low arc off the countertop. I hit the tile floor, hard enough to make a clink! but Chad couldn’t hear me over the sound of his gargling. I rolled much farther than I expected, but I still had no fear. Chad would find me; or at least, Saira would.

Except…I kept rolling, eventually curving in a spiral motion that sent me close to the bathroom wall. If I had just stopped a few inches sooner, things would be so, so different now. But I didn’t. Instead, I rolled right into the metal floor vent, dropping between the slats of the register and into the duct below.

Chad’s search for me was fruitless. To his credit, he did at least try checking the vent; but I had rolled just far enough out of the light that it would have been impossible for him to see me. Saira entered before he had a chance to search further, and with one look at the scene - Chad on all fours, and the ceramic dish empty - she put together what was going on.

What followed was a yelling match like I had never borne witness to before. Saira, already aware of Chad’s ring hiding habit, accused him of losing me on purpose. Chad feigned innocence and retorted - in this case, correctly - that it had simply been an accident. The conversation spiraled out of control from there, bringing in other unrelated grievances and accusations until the two of them both forgot what it was they were fighting about in the first place - me, and my disappearance.

So neither Chad nor Saira bothered to look for me that night. The next day there was a feeble attempt made, but lingering tension from the fight seemed to sap any real motivation to search. I waited patiently, absolutely convinced that once they both calmed down there would be a proper and thorough investigation into my whereabouts. I had every confidence I would be found, so although I longed for my ceramic dish next to my partner, I wasn’t worried.

But days quickly gave way to weeks, and while it appeared Saira and Chad had finally made up, I began to lose hope. It seemed like Chad was wearing his silicone band full time as a replacement (except for when Saira was out of town for work, at which point I noticed his finger went bare). I couldn’t believe Saira would accept the loss of her husband’s ring that perfectly matched her own, but it seemed like she was just happy he was wearing anything at all. Foolishly though, I tried to convince myself there was still a chance that one day I would be found.

Any remaining shred of hope was dashed the day I saw Chad bring another woman home with him. Saira was out visiting family while Chad, who was “too busy with work” to join her, stayed behind. But Chad failed to clarify that the aforementioned work had nothing to do with meetings and spreadsheets, and everything to do with his secretary and their secret affair with one another.

There was nothing I could do but watch in horror as they made their way around the bathroom, feet occasionally passing over the vent. I wanted to scream, I wanted to stop them, knowing deep down that this was the beginning of the end of the road for my owners. I felt their initials burning on my surface; C&S. Even if I hadn’t been lost, there was no saving me if there was no Chad and Saira to go along with my custom engraving. I wouldn’t have been able to be re-sold, not with their letters and date permanently affixed on my inner band. Instead, I was destined to be thrown in a box, forgotten about, shoved into the corner of a closet for the rest of time. I supposed the vent wasn’t much different from that fate.

I was right; it wasn’t immediately - there were many rendezvous between Chad and several other women before Saira finally caught on. But as expected, she did, and…that was that. It only took a few weeks after finding out about Chad’s infidelity before the house was packed up and put on the market. I watched from my spot in the floor as items were put in boxes around me. It brought me some peace to see Saira put the ceramic dish with my partner still on it into a large padded jewelry box; it was still a prison sentence much like mine, but at least she would live on in comfort.

To no surprise, nobody looked for me again. Even if they had, the thick layer of dust and grime now encasing me would have made it impossible to spot me, even if they had known where to look. I was expecting to be left behind, but it still stung to hear the echo of the front door closing as Chad exited for the last time. With his departure, I truly did lose whatever speck of hope I had still been foolishly and desperately clinging to.

Soon, a new family will move into the house. They won’t know of my existence, and they will never have any reason to look inside this floor vent.

I am completely and utterly alone.

Forever.