Z is for Zales.

I found the receipt tucked neatly away in a box in the closet, backdated two years since, uncovered only in the shifting and purging of the move. Jewelry in and of itself is nothing, I know, but that piece of paper, saved after all those years, was worth more than all the diamond mines in Africa. I knew then that I would never be her, that I’d never be more than your shield against loneliness. And I can’t blame you for settling for the perfectly adequate, particularly when you’ve realized that your only chance for real happiness was never yours to begin with.