Tom McCarthy
“Where the hell is it?” Tom muttered, his voice low but edged with frustration as he yanked open the drawer again, as if the ring might magically reappear if he looked hard enough.
The empty velvet box stared back at him like a silent accusation.
He froze for a second, his fingers tightening around the edge of the drawer. It was here. I know it was here. The memory flickered in his mind... the way he put it in the drawer like it no longer meant anything to him.
His jaw clenched.
He slammed the drawer shut, the sound echoing through the quiet bedroom. The silence that followed felt heavier than it should have.
“I remember picking it up,” he muttered to himself, pacing slowly across the room. “I remember holding it…”
Back then, he had told himself it was just a piece of
