“Then explain it.”
He hesitated. “I will. It’s a long story, and you may not believe me. But you deserve the truth… just not today.”
“After sixty years, you still can’t tell me?”
I walked out of the garage, shaking.
The days that followed were painfully quiet.
Henry became even more attentive, watching me constantly. It only made me more uneasy.
I needed answers.
One morning, I pretended to be asleep as he got up early. Through half-closed eyes, I watched him open the safe and take out a thick envelope of cash.
Where was he going with that much money?
“I’m going for a walk,” he whispered, thinking I was asleep.
But he didn’t put on his walking shoes. He wore his good jacket—the one for important occasions.
As soon as he left, I got dressed and followed him, keeping my distance.
He didn’t go to the park.
He went to a private neurology clinic.
My heart began to race.
Inside, I slipped past the receptionist and down the hallway. A door stood slightly open, voices drifting out.
I recognized Henry’s voice.
The doctor spoke first. “Henry, her condition is progressing faster than we hoped.”
Her condition?
