“The doctors couldn’t explain what was happening. She had wandered from home twice before anyone realized she was ill. She forgot appointments, she left the stove on, sometimes she forgot you at school. I was scared,” Robert admitted.
“I thought if you watched her disappear piece by piece, it would destroy you.”
“So you told me she abandoned me.”
“I thought it would hurt less. Then the years kept passing. And every year it became harder to admit what I’d done.”
Kyle’s voice hardened.
“You let me hate her for 30 years.”
Robert began to cry.
“I never imagined she’d live this long.”
Kyle looked toward the car.
Gladys was smiling at Mia through the window, completely unaware of the conversation.
“I lost 30 years anyway.”
No one spoke.
Finally, Robert whispered, “I’m sorry.”
Kyle folded the letters against his chest.
“I believe you’re sorry.” He looked directly at his father. “But I’m done letting you decide what I can survive.”
We left without another word.
Months passed.
Gladys had good days and difficult ones.
Some mornings she remembered Kyle’s name; other mornings she asked where her little boy had gone.
She still wandered into Mia’s room from time to time.
One morning, Gladys stopped in the doorway.
She smiled at Mia.
“Thank you for sharing your room with me.”
It was the first thing she’d remembered all week.
Only now Mia laughed, took her hand, and gently walked her back to bed.
One evening, I found the two of them sitting together on the floor, coloring pictures.
Gladys looked at Mia and smiled.
“You remind me of someone.”
