He reached toward the camera.
“I love you,” he said. “I’ve loved you since you laughed at my hinge drawing. Whatever happens, I need you to remember that. Even if I can’t.”
The screen went black.
I don’t know how long I sat there.
The room was very quiet. Somewhere outside, a lawnmower started up. A dog barked twice. A car drove by with its radio playing.
The world was going on like nothing had happened.
I pressed play again. I watched it again. And again.
It’s Alzheimer’s. Early onset.
One day I might forget you, Lee.
I’d spent two days thinking my husband was having an affair.
I’d spent a whole night on the bathroom floor imagining another woman in Room 12. Imagining him slipping a ring on her finger. Imagining Carol at the café pouring her coffee and smiling.
And all along, he was dying.
