About two plus years ago, I lost my wedding ring. It wasn’t a particularly expensive or fancy ring, but I loved it. It was titanium ( I loathe gold) and just the right size and weight for my hand. My husband, who I’d been with for over 16 years before we even go married, put it on my finger, so it meant a lot. A hell of a lot.
When I got back from braving the weather to drive mum about today, hubby came up to me and said “a lady brought this ring to the door, she found it in the mud outside the house. I was pretty sure it was yours”
Only, I was wearing mine. Not the original ring, but an exact same ring that I bought to replace my original when it was lost.
The ring that was in the mud though, was also mine. It was my original wedding ring. It must have fallen off outside the house all that time ago, and been trodden into the ground by us, my parents, and the multitude of dog walkers that walk the public footpath outside mum’s house. All this rain and mud must have pushed it back up to the surface again.
It’s back on my hand, safe and sound. I will *never* lose it again.