I was flying from Boston, my hometown, back to Michigan, where I had moved five years ago to live with my boyfriend, Steve. At one point, a flight attendant passed by offering pretzels. When I reached out with my left hand to grab a package, she couldn’t help but notice my ring and commented, “What a beautiful ring. Are you engaged?”
“Yes,” I replied. That was easier than giving explanations.
I felt relieved that she didn’t ask any more questions, like when I was getting married. The answer would have to be “never,” because my fiancé, Steve, had passed away. He hadn’t even been my fiancé, not really.
I met Steve in New York State, where we both had temporary jobs; he as an electrician, there for a union job, and me at the Hitching Post bar in the Wappingers Falls area, something temporary I was doing after college to save money and go backpacking in Europe.
Steve and I hit it off at the Hitching Post. He was tall and lean, muscular from pulling cables all day on industrial construction sites. With his mane of blond curls and serene blue eyes, he was so handsome that he stood out. When we walked in public, he was the one who attracted stares like a magnet.
My experience with Steve was the closest I had ever been to love at first sight. From our first date, we started spending every day together, perhaps because we knew our romance had an expiration date. I had my trip to Europe that summer; he, when his contract ended, would go back to Michigan to finalize his divorce. Across 11 European countries, I carried his striped cotton shirt inside my overstuffed backpack, and every day I buried my face in it to evoke his presence.
As the months passed, our connection deepened. We shared our dreams, fears, and secrets. We spoke about our pasts, our families, our aspirations. Our bond grew stronger with each passing day. Steve made me feel loved, cherished, and understood in a way I had never experienced before.
When Steve unexpectedly passed away in a tragic accident, my world shattered. The future we had planned together was ripped away in an instant. I was left heartbroken, lost, and grieving for the life we would never get to share.
Despite the pain of his absence, I still wear the ring he gave me. It’s a symbol of the love we shared, the memories we created, and the dreams we had together. It serves as a reminder of the bond we had and the happiness we found in each other’s arms.
So, when people ask about my ring, I simply smile and say, “Yes, I’m engaged.” Because in my heart, I will always be engaged to the man who stole my heart and showed me a love so pure and true.
