Gemotions

She found it while cleaning out her grandmother’s things: a letter, unsent, addressed to her. It was written when her grandfather was first diagnosed with Alzheimer's. The signature at the end, her grandmother’s looping script, felt like a phantom touch.

"The world seems to shrink, day by day," it read. "He doesn’t remember the songs we loved, the places we’ve been. It's like watching a candle burn down to nothing." Her vision blurred.

A sob escaped her, ragged and unexpected. The words echoed the pain she was currently experiencing with her own husband's declining health. The letter, a silent testament to enduring sorrow, rested on her lap.