It had been four years.
Four years since Refael closed his eyes for the last time. Four years since the silence of his absence became the loudest sound in Mara's life. The world had moved on—but she hadn't. Not entirely.
Mara sat alone on the balcony of the Shepherd estate, the sky streaked with fading gold as the sun dipped low behind the hills. Her fingers toyed with a velvet box, frayed at the edges from years of being opened and closed, touched and tucked away.
Inside was the ring.
Simple. Elegant. A solitaire diamond band, Refael had picked himself. He'd never gotten the chance to slip it onto her finger, not the way he imagined. Not the way he'd dreamed. She closes the box, which she had never worn. Not once.
The wind whispered like an old friend, brushing gently through her hair. A familiar ache pressed against her ribs, but it no longer crushed her. It lived beside her now. Grief had learned to quiet itself, allowing space for something else—purpose.
