She had noticed some time ago that Elodie wasn’t wearing her ring, but hadn’t thought much of it then. Now, seeing that Elodie still never wore it, she couldn’t help but ask.

Jarrod glanced sideways at the question, his eyes flicking to Elodie’s slender, pale hands.

Elodie answered calmly, “It just gets in the way.”

The truth was, when she’d mailed Jarrod the divorce papers, she’d included the wedding ring in the envelope. She had no idea what he’d done with it—maybe he’d handed it off to Keith to deal with, for all she knew.

Honestly, ever since their wedding day, she’d been the only one to wear a ring. Jarrod had never once put his on, always presenting himself to the world as a single man.

She’d been performing this one-woman show long enough.

From the old woman’s perspective, what harm could a ring possibly cause? She glanced at Jarrod’s bare fingers too, and suddenly seemed to understand- Elodie’s heart hadn’t grown cold overnight.

The old woman shot Jarrod a sharp look, silently urging him to say something. Even a perfunctory gesture of reassurance would be better than indifference.

Jarrod noticed the hint, but seemed to miss its meaning. Instead of asking Elodie why she’d stopped wearing the ring, he offered the old woman a piece of shrimp. “Why are you blinking at me? Want me to peel it for you?”

He was a master at changing the subject, clearly with no intention of setting an example by wearing his own ring.

The old woman glared at him, opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again with a sigh, her expression tinged with helpless resignation. She decided it was better not to bother anymore.

Elodie pretended not to notice and ate her dinner in silence.

She knew better than anyone: if Jarrod had wanted to wear that ring, he wouldn’t have gone three years without putting it on. For all she knew, it was lost somewhere and he didn’t even care.

Elodie had expected the old woman to leave after dinner, but to her surprise, she settled into the guest room for the night. With a sigh, Elodie headed upstairs.

When she entered the bedroom, she found Jarrod sitting on the window seat, scrolling through his phone. She had to pass by him to get to her things. As soon as he realized she was there, Jarrod tilted the phone screen away from her. Elodie guessed he was probably chatting up Sylvie again, with things he didn’t want her to see. She didn’t care, brushing past him to look for her charger.

After a long day, her phone was dead-she hadn’t had a single moment to plug it in.

As she sat on the edge of the bed, plugging it in, Jarrod stretched out his legs and asked, almost absent-mindedly, “Want me to send you the photos and videos?”

Elodie looked up, confused. “What?”

Seeing her blank expression, Jarrod paused, lighter in hand, then tucked it away without lighting a cigarette. “The group photo Grandma took of us last time.”

Elodie finally remembered. Grandma had asked Jarrod to send her the pictures, but nothing had come of it.

She was honestly surprised Jarrod still had them.

But then it hit her: he’d just been chatting with Sylvie, and Elodie recalled that last time she’d called Jarrod, Sylvie had picked up-maybe Sylvie checked his phone, too. Jarrod was probably worried Sylvie would find them.

Besides, family photos hardly mattered anymore. They were divorced now-what use was a photo together?

With that thought, Elodie didn’t hesitate. She replied coolly, “No need. Just delete them.”