“I would be there. Every day if that is what life asked. I would know your doctors. Your medications. Which music calms you. I would bring Marlowe’s successor whether the rules allowed dogs or not.”
His mouth trembled.
“And if you forgot me, I would introduce myself again.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“You shouldn’t have to.”
“I would choose to.”
“You don’t know what that would cost.”
“I know what losing you costs.”
Tears spilled down his cheeks.
“I just started believing in the future.”
The words broke.
“I could see it for the first time. The yard. Canada. The ring.”
I pulled him into my arms.
His body shook.
“And then I read that my future might be more doctors. More forgetting. You changing my clothes. Me not knowing you.”
I held him tightly.
The headache, fear, and grief came out in sobs he could not quiet.
“It isn’t fair,” he said.
“No.”
“I already lost enough.”
“Yes.”
“I don’t want to lose you twice.”
“You haven’t lost me once.”
“I woke without you.”
“And found me.”
His hands clenched in my shirt.
“What if I can’t find you next time?”
“Then I find you.”
