He looked at the ring on his finger for a long time. The smile faded into something softer.
“The doctor says routines help,” he said quietly. “Things you do every day. Things your body remembers even when your brain doesn’t. So I figure, if I wear this every day, then maybe one day, when I don’t remember why… my hand will. Maybe I’ll look down and see it and feel something. Even if I don’t know what. Maybe that’s enough.”
He looked at the camera.
“See you soon, Lee,” he said. “Act surprised.”
The video ended.
That was the ring mark. Three days in the August sun with a practice ring on his finger. Long enough to leave its shape behind.
Probably from holding the fishing rod.
My poor, sweet, terrible liar of a husband.
The key card to Room 12 wasn’t for her. It was for us. He’d gone there Saturday morning, while the guys ate pancakes, to look at the room. To make sure it was still the same.
