He Thought She Was Just a Mechanic—Then Her Ring Shattered His Family’s Past (3 of 4)

Amara glanced at it, her expression flickering. “It was my mother’s. She passed it down before she died. Said it’s been in the family a long time.”

Elijah’s heart began to pound. He’d seen that ring before. Or one just like it.

Years ago, his grandfather, Howard Monroe, had shown him a faded photo of a woman he’d once loved—a woman named Delilah. A Black schoolteacher from the 1960s. Howard had spoken of her with rare softness. Their love, doomed by family prejudice, ended in silence. All that remained was a single keepsake he’d once given her: an emerald ring. The same one?

He swallowed hard. “Did your mom ever mention her mother’s name?”

Amara’s eyes narrowed. “Why?”

“Because my grandfather… he loved someone once. Her name was Delilah Wells. And she wore a ring just like that.”

The air between them thickened, like the moment before a summer storm.

Amara looked down at her hand, quiet for a beat. “My mother’s name was Jasmine. She never talked about her parents. Just… said some things were better left buried.”

Elijah didn’t push. Something told him not to. But the question burned in his chest.

She closed the hood, wiping her hands. “You’re all set. Just don’t push it too hard.”

He smiled, still reeling. “Can I get your card?”