It sat in a drawer, still in the box, untouched since the night he brought it home. She had never even tried it on. Not because she didn’t love him, she did, or at least she thought she did, but because something about the weight of that ring felt off. It wasn’t just the carats or the cut. It was the story behind it. The silences between them after payday. The money that vanished. The tension that followed. The ring didn’t symbolize their love. It symbolized the cost of pretending.
Gold has always been sold to us as a promise. A band that seals a vow. A signal to the world that you belong to someone and someone belongs to you. But behind that glow, there is often a shadow. In many South African homes, gold is not a celebration, it’s a debt. An engagement ring doesn’t always mean the beginning of something beautiful. Sometimes, it’s the final transaction before everything breaks.
In certain families, a ring is expected. Not just any ring, but a ring that holds weight in both metal and meaning. If it doesn’t glint in the right way, eyebrows are raised. Aunties whisper. Friends ask questions that sting. “Is that real?” “That’s small for someone who’s been together five years.” “You deserve better.” And maybe she does. But maybe she also knows what that ring cost. Maybe she knows the truth about how it was bought, on credit, on impulse, on desperation.
There are men who bleed financially for that small circle of gold. Who take out loans, who skip bills, who gamble on a weekend win to buy something they can’t actually afford but feel pressured to provide. Because in this culture, love without gold is love without proof. And if you don’t bring gold to the table, someone else will. That’s the story they’ve been told. And they believe it.
But once the box is opened, once the proposal is accepted, once the photos are posted and the likes roll in, reality knocks. The fridge is still empty. The electricity runs out again. The rent is late. And now there’s a ring, but no wedding in sight. No savings. No stability. Just a heavy little promise that keeps making noise in the drawer. Not with sound, but with the weight of its consequences.
For some couples, the ring becomes a wedge. She begins to ask when they’ll get married. He starts dodging the conversation. She wonders why he can buy gold but not fix the car. He resents being questioned after “doing the right thing.” Communication unravels. Affection becomes tension. And slowly, the sparkle fades. Not just from the ring, but from the relationship. Because love tied to gold is love tied to expectation. And expectation can become a burden no one wants to carry.
There are women who keep the ring long after the relationship ends. Tucked away like a souvenir of something that almost was. Not because they want it, but because returning it feels like admitting defeat. Others sell it, quietly, at pawn shops where no one asks questions. A few bury it at the back of the wardrobe and try not to think about it. But the ring still lingers, in memory, in photos, in the unanswered what-ifs.
What’s hardest to admit is that sometimes the ring was never really about her. It was about proving something, to friends, to family, to the world. It was about appearing stable when things were falling apart. About chasing status in a country where the image of success often matters more than its foundation. In a place where gold is still seen as a measure of manhood, the engagement ring becomes less about union and more about performance.
But there are also stories of women who said no. Who looked at the ring, looked at the man, looked at the future, and decided they weren’t interested in buying into someone else’s illusion. Who chose to walk away, not out of spite, but out of clarity. Because a ring is not a reason to stay. It’s not a down payment on happiness. It doesn’t erase the red flags, the cold silences, the borrowed money, the nights spent wondering why you feel more alone with him than without him.
The ring she never wore is not just a personal story. It’s a pattern. It’s the quiet epidemic of engagements that end before the wedding ever begins. It’s the real cost of tying love to metal. In some ways, the ring is a mirror. It reflects what the relationship truly is, whole or hollow. Some women put it on and feel beautiful. Others put it on and feel trapped. And a few never put it on at all, because they knew, deep down, that gold alone can’t hold a future together.
There is no shame in leaving a ring behind. In fact, sometimes it’s the bravest thing a woman can do. To say, I want love, but not like this. Not with this kind of pressure. Not with this kind of debt. Not with a symbol that feels more like an anchor than a beginning. In a country where so much is built on image, choosing truth over appearances is a radical act.
So the ring stays in the box. Or it’s returned. Or it’s sold. Or it’s forgotten. But its lesson remains, that love, real love, doesn’t shine on your finger, it shows up in how you’re treated, in what’s built together, in what survives the hard months. The gold is beautiful, yes. But sometimes, the most beautiful decision is to walk away without it.
