It was the nicest home in the area, they told him, soft but assertive voices, all gentle touches and quiet noises. They would take care of her, no need to worry, and look at all the happy people. Inside he thought, I'm not a happy people, but he couldn't say anything, and he knew it was for the best.

They had seen the world together. He remembered her smiling face on the streets of Paris, the way she sat closer than she should as they glided through the narrow channels of Venice. She embraced the mad confusion of the asian markets they visited, not understanding but also not caring. But she did not remember.

He had come to visit her at lunch, her vacant, confused stare on him and the food he was offering her. She didn't even know who he was, and he cried.