spelling homework beside a tray of unset stones. The room smelled of metal dust, coffee, and warm lamp light. Nora stood at the bench in an apron, loupe to one eye, guiding a tiny file along the shoulder of a custom band. Her movements were steady again.
On her left hand, the pear-shaped diamond caught the workshop light and returned it softly, no longer a museum relic, no longer a stolen legend under glass. Just a ring. Just a promise that had taken the long way home.
When Nora looked up, Elsie lifted the old iron seal from the bench where they kept it now in a padded tray.
“Should we hide it?” Elsie asked.
Nora smiled, reached over, and closed her daughter’s fingers around the cool black metal. “No,” she said. “In this family, we keep the proof where we can find it.”
