If my fathers inherited curiosity had not been passed down to me, I would have brushed past the strange glint among the heap of demolition debris, mistaking it for a shard of bottle. Yet I bent, lifted the deepblack object, and felt its weight.
It was an old seal ring of dark silver, set with a large stone that had dulled with age. In the glow of my lantern the gem caught a faint, velvety blue.
Back then, I understood antiquities better than people. My fingertips traced, as if by habit, the inner groove of the band and the faded script of its engraving. My heart leapt. I glanced around the lane was empty and slipped the find into my coat pocket.
Later, under a magnifying glass at home, doubts vanished. The stone was a genuine sapphire. My father had often told me that such a gem symbolised faith, hope and love.
The seal was ancient, and after a gentle wipe with a soft cloth the sapphire revealed its true hue a deep cornflower blue, though not perfectly clear, with a whisper of smoke. It wasnt a fortune, yet it represented a considerable sum for my modest means enough for a downpayment on a modest flat or a splendid holiday abroad.
What would you have done?
I immediately began to look for excuses not to tell anyone about my discovery. The ring had lain in the rubbish of a demolished Victorian backstreet house its owner long gone, the trash destined for the tip. I had found it, so it was mine.
My thoughts turned to Emily. A month earlier she had wept and said, Youre as reliable as a pocket watch, Alex. But now I realise life needs a touch of madness, some daring risks! Im leaving you for Stephen.
Madness? I had sneered, rolling the heavy seal between my palms. Ill give you a stunt so bold that every Stephen will be jealous. Ill whisk us off to the Maldives for six months, post pictures, and you can watch and weep.
I didnt know the rings exact value, but the antique dealer I called gave a rough estimate, and the thought of such a gift made my spirit soar. A sweet, almost guilty thrill fluttered in my chest. I clenched the seal tightly, feeling my hands tremble.
I carried out a proper appraisal: I searched for information on the mark, compared the stone to catalogue photographs. Everything matched. Then I sat down and began to sketch out plans. The process was intoxicating. That night I lay awake, dreaming of turquoise seas and swaying palms.
Would you have slept? Of course not
Later, perched on the windowsill, I mused, Selling it would mean parting with it forever, and that would be ending a story Yet practicality won. I must find a buyer who appreciates its antiquarian worth, not one who will simply melt it down.
The new owner of such a treasure would have plenty to ponder. My imagination was already out of bounds.
So the Maldives were decided.
What next?
Perhaps I could finally renovate the flat, I thought. Or finally buy that camera lens Ive been saving for three years. I rose, moved to the window, and, watching the sleepy city, added, Or I could simply lodge the money in a savings account and not worry about tomorrow.
Morning came with a call from an old friend who was always dragging me on hikes, a hobby Id always declined because of work. This time Ill go, I told myself, eyeing the seal lying on the table, and drifted back to sleep, lulled by sweet reveries.
When I awoke, the ring was still there no dream. Determined to mark a new beginning, I made my way to the upscale restaurant with floortoceiling windows that always seemed out of reach because of the price tag.
There, at the bar, I saw her Emily, alone with a coffee, her face etched with sorrow and bewilderment.
I wanted to look away, but something stopped me. A memory clicked.
I approached the maîtred.
Do you see that young woman? I whispered. Id like to settle her bill. And please give her this.
From my pocket I withdrew the seal. It rested heavy on my palm, mysterious as if guarding the secrets of its former owners.
What? But this is
Just hand it over. Tell her its from someone capable of a true deed, someone who wishes her happiness, whatever form that may take.
I didnt wait for a reaction. I turned and left, feeling the ground slip beneath my feet. I had just given away not merely a ring, but my ticket to freedom. For what? To prove I wasnt greedy, not calculating, not unfair in my reproach? Or simply to see astonishment rather than envy in her eyes? Perhaps real madness lies not in selfishness but in the ability to let go.
***
Emily sat alone in the nowquiet restaurant, unable to move. In her hand lay the ancient seal, heavy, cold, undeniably real. Beside it was a note from the maîtred: From a man who is capable of a deed.
She understood everything.
It was a reply not the one she had expected, not a plea to return. It was something larger. A gesture from a man who, at great personal cost, proved he could act with selfless madness. Alex had not bought a car with the money, nor flown off on a holiday. He had handed the ring to her, simply. In the name of forgiveness? love? liberty?
She recalled Stephen, who had argued with her the previous day over a café tab, and saw in the quiet, overwhelming power of that act that a deed meant not bravado but quiet strength.
***
I was drunk that night and fell asleep still in my work clothes.
In my dream I walked along a beach, but beneath my feet lay not sand, but scattered sapphires I woke with a heavy head and empty pockets, recalling the ring, the restaurant, the impulsive sacrifice.
Lying there, I caught a familiar scent the perfume I once gave her on her birthday.
I opened my eyes, propped myself up on my elbow. In the doorway stood Emily, the seal clasped in her hand.
Are you why did you? I began.
I returned Stephens gifts, she said softly. And this She extended the ring. Its ours now. We could sell it and go to the Maldives together, or we could keep it. If youll have it.
I stared at her in silence.
I was completely sober, utterly content. I had performed a deed, and that deed, costing me a small fortune, had returned something far more valuable.
