Both

Somebody's wife. Somebody's mother. Somebody's daughter, sister, carer, the one who remembers the birthdays. It would be easy to disappear into all of that. Plenty of women do. But there's a line running through you that belongs to nobody but you — the one that reads the book nobody else in the house would read, that still wants the thing she wanted at nineteen, that would know exactly who she was if everyone else walked out of the room.

This ring is two bands running side by side and joined at the ends. One is smooth and plain — that's the part of you that's yours. The other is a chain — that's everyone you're linked to. They never merge. They never separate either.

Wear Both for the years you were needed by everybody and still kept a piece back. For being the centre of a family and a whole person at the same time. For the version of you that only comes out on the drive home alone, and for the version everyone else gets. Both are true. Both are you.

Stack it with the rest — this is the ring that says you never had to choose.