Mother tosses that gold ring down the toilet. It strikes the bottom. Clink.

“A metaphor for your father.” She laughs. Laughter cracked.

She holds the handle, as if one gesture will unleash something frightening. As if he hasn’t been gone a whole year.

“Shall I?”

“Go for it.”

I remember Dad making the announcement, words so matter-of-fact. Mother’s words, husky, harsh. Betrayal, bastard. When did you stop loving me, asshole?

She pulls the handle hard. Once. Twice.

“Watch, Nicky.”

The ring swirls in a kaleidoscopic dance, swirling, until it’s enveloped.

We hold each other, watching the water. Clear and empty.