“I told you not to come in here.”
“Please. Just trust me.”
“Trust you? You’ve been painting pictures of another woman for years! Who is she? Your mistress? Did you decide to cheat on me in your old age?”
“Rosie, it’s not what you think.”
“Then explain it to me.”
“Okay. I’ll tell you. It’s a long story, and you might not believe me, but you need to know the truth. But not today.”
“After 60 years, you can’t tell me the truth?”
I walked out of that garage, shaking.
“Did you decide to cheat on me in your old age?”
***
The days that followed were quiet. Henry became even more attentive. He watched me constantly. And I didn’t understand why.
I needed answers.
One morning, I pretended to be asleep when Henry got up early. Through barely open eyes, I watched him move around the bedroom.
He went to the safe, entered the combination, and pulled out a thick envelope of cash.
Where was he going with that much money?
He watched me constantly.
Henry got dressed quietly.
“I’m going for a walk,” he whispered, thinking I was asleep.
But he didn’t put on his walking shoes. He put on his good jacket. The one he wore to important appointments.
I waited until I heard the front door close. Then I got dressed faster than I had in years.
I followed him in my car, staying far enough back that he wouldn’t notice.
Henry got dressed quietly.
He didn’t go to the park. He went to a building on the other side of town.
A private neurology clinic.
Why was Henry at a neurology clinic?
I parked and went inside. The receptionist didn’t notice me. She was busy on the phone.
I walked down the hallway. Heard voices coming from one of the consultation rooms.
The door was slightly open. I recognized Henry’s voice and stopped to listen.
He didn’t go to the park.
A doctor spoke first. “Henry, her condition is progressing faster than we initially hoped.”
Her condition? Whose condition?
“How much time do we have, Doc?”
“We may have three to five years before significant deterioration.”
“And after that?”
“She may not recognize her children. Or her grandchildren.”
“What about me?” Henry urged.
“How much time do we have, Doc?”
The doctor hesitated. “Eventually… possibly…”
I heard Henry’s breath catch.
“There’s an experimental treatment, Henry. It’s expensive. Not covered by insurance. But it could slow the progression significantly.”
“How expensive?”
“Around $80,000.”
“I’ll pay it. I’ll sell the house if I have to. Just give me more time with her.”
They were talking about someone sick. Someone losing her memory. Someone who might not recognize her own family.
“Just give me more time with her.”
“Henry, you need to tell Rosemary. She has a right to know.”
They were talking about… me.
The doctor continued. “The stages we discussed earlier… they’re projected timelines based on her current rate of decline.”
“What years again?”
“2026, we expect early memory loss to become more apparent. 2027, difficulty recognizing faces. 2029, significant cognitive decline. By 2032, advanced stage.”
They were talking about… me.
The dates on the paintings. Those weren’t random.
Henry had been painting me in advance, preserving who I was before I disappeared.
I pushed the door open. Henry looked up and froze.
“So, I’m the woman on the walls?”
“Rosie… you followed me??”
“Yes. And I heard everything.”
The doctor stood awkwardly. “I’ll give you two a moment.”
Those weren’t random.
Henry reached for me. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t want you to find out like this.”
“How long have you known?”
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