The sound of the sewing shears cutting through the thick cotton hem filled the quiet kitchen.
The blade sliced through the final thread of the double-stitched corner, and the white cotton hem split open.
A small, heavy object fell onto the yellow Formica table with a sharp, metallic clink, bouncing once before sliding toward the edge.
It rolled twice, hitting the edge of my half-eaten slice of birthday cake before coming to a stop near the glass sugar bowl.
Grace reached for it first, her fingers moving in the quick, nervous rhythm she always used when she was startled, tapping rapidly against her own palm.
“It is a ring,” she said, her voice dropping to a whisper as she lifted the object toward the light.
“Look at it, Emily. It was inside the fabric.”
I reached out and took the ring from her hand, the metal cold against my skin.
The metal was dull grey, covered in a thick layer of dark tarnish from eighteen years of damp storage.
The face of the band was still perfectly legible under the bright kitchen bulb, showing a deeply carved letter.
It was a silver signet ring, small enough for a young woman’s finger, with a heavy capital letter G engraved in deep, ornate script.
“G for what?” Grace asked, her eyes moving from the ring to my face. “Our name is Vance.”
“Why would our baby towels have a G on them?” she added.
“I do not know,” I said, clearing my throat before I spoke.
“It might not be a name. It could be a family crest or just a jeweler’s design.”
Emily leaned over my shoulder, her hair tucking behind her left ear as she squinted at the tarnished metal.
She reached down to touch her own right wrist, rubbing the joint with a slow, small circle.
