“Don’t feel pressured.” Seeing the hesitation on Niamh’s face, Peter quickly explained, “I make jewelry for a living, so honestly, I never know what else to get a woman except jewelry. This ring is simple, nothing flashy–it’s a daisy design, really affordable, but I paid extra attention to the craftsmanship. I thought it might be perfect for you to wear to work.”
Peter rambled on, leaving Niamh unsure how to respond. She finally just managed a quiet “Thank you.”
The truth was, Peter had originally planned to gift her a bespoke piece.
But then he remembered the brooch he’d given her before. As far as he could recall, Niamh had never worn it, not even once.
Unless it was for a formal event, Niamh’s style was always understated–barely any makeup, simple clothes, and never a single piece of jewelry.
So Peter changed his mind and went with something she could wear every day.
Still, wanting this simple ring to stand out in her mind, he took a risk and chose a ring instead.
Niamh meant to just tuck the ring away, but after Peter kept mentioning how suitable it was for daily wear–and hinting, rather obviously, that she could put it on right now she ended up slipping the ring onto her left middle finger, putting only the box in her bag.
As for all those supposed rules about rings and the meanings of wearing them on different fingers or hands, Niamh had never paid attention and couldn’t care less.
She wore it on her left hand for the simple reason that she was right–handed, and her right hand was always busy at work.
Today was All Saints‘ Day.
Niamh arrived at Harmony Senior Residence, arms full: a box of shortbread, two roast chickens, a carton of milk, and a pot of her homemade tomato beef stew along with steamed prawns.
Her mother, Gemma Rivers, had lived here for some time.
Before starting her own design studio, Niamh used to visit her mom every week. But ever since launching her company, she could only manage once a month.
A holiday like today finally gave her an excuse to cook.
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Part of it was wanting to bring her mother a proper, home–cooked meal the other part was settling the monthly bill at the care home.
Jonathan had found this place years ago.
It was the most exclusive senior residence in all of Aldenville–top–tier facilities, a highly trained staff, and every detail thoughtfully managed.
After the divorce, Niamh never considered moving her mother out. The only difference was that Jonathan no longer paid the bills–she did.
Knock, knock!
Niamh rapped lightly on the door.
“Mom, it’s me–I’m here to see you.”
The door swung open, revealing two people inside the room.
Her mother, Gemma. And someone else.
Before Niamh could react, the man stood up and strode over to take the groceries from her arms.
“See, Gemma? I told you–Nia’s here,” he said.
Hearing Jonathan call her “Nia” made Niamh feel like she was dreaming. Truthfully, the fact that Jonathan was here at all didn’t seem real.
He’d accompanied her on visits before, but since her mother’s dementia meant she rarely recognized anyone, Jonathan had never needed to keep up appearances
around her.
“Oh, Nia! I told him–you’d never let Jonathan come alone,” Gemma said, squinting affectionately with a warm, motherly smile.
Niamh went from confused to utterly stunned.
“Mom… you recognize me?!”
Gemma nodded, a little embarrassed. “Of course I do, silly girl! What are you talking about?”
Niamh could hardly believe it. She wanted to turn to Jonathan for confirmation, but he was already unpacking the food she’d brought, patting the chair beside him.
“Come sit with us, Nia.”
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