Opening his fist again, he looks at the object in his hand. “What’s that?” “It’s your mother’s wedding ring.” I take in the shape of the thin gold ring. “Why do you have it?” His frown deepens. “She gave it to me. Called it a wedding present. She said it’s been worn by a Karlsson for over a hundred years.” He offers it to me, and I lean away. “What are you doing?” “Take it.” “I can’t take it.” “Henrik, take it.” I shake my head. “She gave it to you. It was a gift.” He scoffs. “Yeah, for your loving husband, your heart’s fire, mate of your fucking soul. She practically recited an epic poem as
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