She kissed him goodbye knowing he wouldn’t remember tomorrow.The doctors warned her it would happen gradually but gradual had become cruel. One day he forgot where he lost his keys, the next he had forgot her birthday. Then he forgot the way home and now sometimes he forgot her.Amelia learned to live in fragments each morning she woke before him, heart heavy with the question that’ had no comfort, would today be one of the days he knew her? Some mornings, he would turn toward her in bed, his eyes warm and certain. “Morning, love,” he’d whisper, kissing her shoulder like he always had. On those days, she allowed herself to believe in miracles.But other mornings, his eyes were distant—polite, confused. He’d smile like a stranger trying to remember where he knew her from. “You’re… Amelia, right?”The first time it happened, she cried in the kitchen until her knees gave out. The second time, she forced herself to smile and said yes, she was. The third time, she started writing everything down.She filled notebooks with their story—how they met in the rain outside the bookstore, how he’d spilled coffee on her notebook and stammered through his apology, how he’d shown up the next day with two new ones and the softest smile she’d ever seen.Every night, she read it to him. Sometimes he listened, laughing in the right places, teasing her about her version of events. Other nights, he listened like a boy being told a bedtime story for the first time—eyes wide, heart open, unaware that the tale was his own.Tonight was one of those nights.They sat together on the couch, the lamplight golden on his face. He looked younger now somehow, the disease peeling away the years but leaving him hollow.“I like this story,” he said when she finished reading. “They sound happy.”“They were,” she said softly.He smiled, uncertain. “Do they stay happy?”She hesitated. “They try,” she whispered.He nodded, then reached for her hand. His thumb traced her palm like he was memorizing her. “I think,” he said slowly, “I’m going to dream about you tonight.”Tears pricked at her eyes, but she smiled anyway. “Then I’ll see you in your dreams.”Later, when she tucked him into bed, he looked up at her and said, “Goodnight, Amelia.” He said it with the quiet certainty of a man who remembered, and she clung to that sound like it was air.When the morning came, he woke early. She felt the bed shift, the pause of him watching her.“Excuse me,” he said softly. “I don’t mean to be rude, but… who are you?”Her heart broke, but her face did not show it. She smiled through the ache, through the grief that had become routine. “I’m Amelia,” she said. “I’m someone who loves you very much.”He studied her face, brow furrowed. Then, almost shyly, he said, “I think… maybe I love you too.”And she kissed him again—because even if he forgot tomorrow, even if the past was gone, love was still something she could give him now

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The last goodbye

Shann1997

Shannon Howe

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Forgetting tomorrow

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