Most days, I’m the nice lady who comes in the mornings. He likes me. He tells the nurses I’m his favorite. Sometimes he flirts with me. Sometimes he asks if I’m married, and I tell him yes.
“Lucky guy,” he says.
“I think so,” I say.
But here’s the thing. Here’s the thing I want Sophie to remember. Here’s the thing I want anybody who ever reads this to remember.
He never takes off the ring.
The nurses have tried, a few times, to clean it or check his skin. He won’t let them. He gets upset. He holds his hand against his chest and shakes his head and says, “No. No. That’s mine. That’s mine.”
He doesn’t know why. He can’t tell you who gave it to him. But his hand knows.
Just like he hoped. Just like he said in that video by the lake.
