Two lovebirds, holding hands, heads together, smiling into each other’s eyes.
“She thinks he’s her boyfriend,” the director said. “At night, she goes into his room.”
She looked at me, no sign of recognition.
“Are they intimate?” I ask.
“Yes. Does that bother you?”
That terrible disease had robbed her of our memories. Now those memories were all I had.
“Does it bother me? No. She’s happy. That’s all that matters now.”
I thanked him, turned, and left.
My love for her permitted me to let her go. She was happy now, and that was all I had ever wanted.
