Aspen’s throat works. “How about I come back soon if you promise to get some rest and not give Connie too much hell?”
Her gray hair sways as she nods like that solves something important.
Then her gaze drifts.
And drifts.
And finally settles out the window.
Connie moves in beside her, light hand on her shoulder. “Let’s get you ready for dinner, okay?”
Gran allows it.
I stand and move away. This part hurts the most—when it’s time to say goodbye but she’s forgotten who I am. Slipped back into a time where she didn’t even know I existed.
Her eyes snap back to me with startling clarity.
“You don’t let her go,” she says.
I don’t know who she’s talking about. She might not either.
I’m not sure it matters; both are true. I haven’t let Rory go, and the thought of losing Aspen already feels sharp enough to bleed.
My voice barely works. “I won’t.”
She searches my face like she’s memorizing it again.
Then softer—almost to herself—“She’s beautiful. You did good.”
And just as fast, it slips.
Her gaze slides past me.
“Mark?” she asks. “Is he coming for dinner?”
Connie meets my eyes again, almost apologetic.
I nod.
It’s time.
Aspen squeezes my hand once before letting go. She leans down, kisses Gran’s cheek. “It was so nice to meet you.”
Aspen and I walk out without speaking.
The hallway feels longer than before.
Outside, through the tall windows that line the hall, the light has shifted—blue bleeding into copper and pink. Evening is starting its quiet takeover outside.
Aspen exhales like she’s been holding it in for hours.
“She loves you,” Aspen says.
I shake my head. “She loved us.”
Aspen smiles at that.
And somehow, instead of wrecking me, the visit steadies something inside my chest.
