But neither ever completely forgot.
Around midnight, Thomas finally emerged from the bedroom.
His eyes were red.
His smile was peaceful.
“She’s sleeping.”
My mother nodded.
“Will you come back tomorrow?”
He looked toward the closed bedroom door.
“If she’ll have me.”
The next morning he returned.
And the next.
And the next.
For six weeks, Thomas visited every day.
Sometimes bringing flowers.
Sometimes old photographs.
Sometimes just himself.
