Every time I saw my mom, I had to brace myself, had to prepare for the possibility that she wouldn’t know me, that I’d become a stranger overnight. It was a special kind of torture, and it didn’t matter how much money I had, how many doctors I’d spoken to, or how many studies I’d read. There was nothing I could do to stop it.
I delayed visiting her as long as I could, hated the guilt that settled in my chest every time I walked into the facility, but I couldn’t avoid it forever.
Logan and I pulled into our usual spot, neither of us speaking. Normally, we’d bullshit in the car—talk trash, argue about sports, make fun of each other. Not today.
Today, we were quiet.
Because we both knew what this visit could be.
The old brick building stood solid and familiar, its entrance lined with vibrant flower beds and a small fountain trickling softly nearby. The kind of place meant to look peaceful, even though the families who walked through its doors were anything but.
Angela Rhodes, the home director and all-around god-send, greeted us at the front desk, her warm, steady presence a small comfort in the chaos. “Hey, Madsen brothers,” she said, smiling like she hadn’t just watched us hesitate in the parking lot for five minutes. “She’s having a good day today. She’ll love to see her favorite people.”
My body unclenched slightly.
Logan exhaled, muttering, “Thank God,” under his breath.
Angela hummed as she led us down the hallway, filling the silence with soft chatter. “We had a pianist come in this morning,” she said. “She was singing. Music always helps.”
Singing.
I swallowed against the tightness in my throat.
It was so rare now, the glimpses of her before the disease, the unfiltered happiness. And we never knew when it would be the last time.
Angela gestured toward the door. “Go on in.”
We stepped inside, and I held my breath.
Our mother looked up, and for one terrifying second, I thought she didn’t recognize us. Then?—
“Lolo!” she gasped, her face lighting up as she threw her arms around Logan. “It’s so good to see you. You’re so handsome, gosh. I don’t know how I made such handsome boys.”
My lungs loosened.
She turned to me, and my chest tightened all over again.
“Brooks,” she said, walking over to wrap me in a full-body hug, the kind she used to give us every day when we were kids. “What’s with the frown? I read you’re happy with the trade to Phoenix? I know I’ll be glad to see you around.”
She was having a good day.
I smiled, pressing my lips together so I wouldn’t choke on emotion, and led her to her favorite chair. “I am very happy. It means I get to see you a lot more.”
She beamed, her hands squeezing mine. “I miss our weekly dinners. Can we do that again?”
“Of course,” Logan said, his voice thick. He looked at me as he added, “We already do them, but now that you’re here full-time…”
I nodded, though something in me twisted painfully. We did have dinner with her every week. But she didn’t remember.
It wasn’t her fault but it didn’t make it hurt any less.
“Did you like the Chinese we brought last time?” Logan asked carefully.
She frowned, her expression going distant, and my stomach plummeted. Then—“Oh, that’s right! The spicy chicken thing. It was delicious.”
Relief flooded me. She remembered. For now.
I exhaled and sank into the small sofa beside her, letting Logan take the lead on conversation. She filled us in on all the drama at the facility—who was fighting with who, whose grandkids were coming to visit, which nurse had a secret boyfriend.
