When diamonds aren’t forever

What becomes of the rings that said I do

Hello you!

I proposed to myself in Tiffany’s, New York when I was twenty-one years old.

‘I want that one,’ I said. My finger was pointing at a particularly sparkly signature cut round brilliant diamond engagement ring sitting on a platinum band. It was the original style designed in 1886 by Charles Lewis Tiffany.  It was perfect. And to me, he was perfect.

He was still married at the time, but at twenty-one this didn’t detract from his perfectness one bit. Far from my finest hour for sure, but I wanted what I wanted. At this point in my life, I wanted the fairytale - and he was my prince; my Libra man who was going to bring balance to my life and save me from my wretched self.

Next came the wedding band. Another Tiffany purchase, in London this time complete with more diamonds. Together they would look just as I had always envisioned. And for the next 10 years they did. I loved my rings. I loved the story behind them, how they made me feel and how they looked on my hand. I loved the way they represented I belonged, I’d been claimed and wearing them meant he loved me. To me, they were a representation of being worthy of a happily ever after.

When we separated, taking them off was painful. I didn’t just take them off once. I’d put them back on when I felt sad. I’d sit and cry as I admired them thinking about how I no longer belonged. On a practical level I knew they were just rings, but emotionally they were so much more than that. It was the meaning I injected into them that mattered.

It was only last year, three years after our separation, I felt able to part with them. I sold my engagement ring to a man named Luke who was going to propose to his long-term girlfriend Molly. I was sure of my decision to let it go and told Luke I hope Molly loves it as much as I have and you’re happy together forever. I meant it.

My wedding ring was sold to a man named Colin who drove all the way from Scotland to collect it from my mum’s house in Derbyshire. His fifteen year wedding anniversary was coming up and his wife, he never gave me her name, wanted to upgrade their rings. Again I wished him all the best with it and hoped it would make her as happy as it had made me.

So there I was, ringless.