“Did he marry?”

Edward’s hands tightened around the steering wheel.

“Yes.”

The single word landed harder than I expected.

“Who was she?”

“My mother helped him recover after he came home.”

“Yes.”

“Did she know about me?”

“She knew there had been someone before the war. She never knew your name.”

“Did he love her?”

Edward took several moments before answering.

“Yes.”

Benjamin had survived, built another life, and loved another woman.

Instead of feeling anger, I imagined a wounded young soldier trying to rebuild himself after losing nearly everything he once knew.

“Is she still alive?”

“She passed away five years ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“She was a good woman.”

The words came with difficulty. That was how I knew they were true.

A staff member greeted us outside Benjamin’s room.

“He may not recognize you, Isobel. Please don’t pressure him. If he becomes distressed, we’ll have to end the visit.”

I nodded quietly.

For sixty-two years, Benjamin had remained eighteen in my memories, with dark hair, broad shoulders, and warm hands wrapped around mine.

Behind that door waited an eighty-year-old man I no longer knew.

“What if there’s nothing left of us?”

Edward’s face softened. “You don’t have to go in.”

Wren squeezed my hand.

I shook my head. “No. I didn’t come all this way to be brave in a hallway.”

Benjamin sat beside the window in a wheelchair.

A moment later, he turned toward us. His eyes were still blue.

Before my mind accepted it, my heart already knew him.

“Dad, someone came to see you.”

Benjamin looked at me with quiet politeness.

The hope I had carried inside me slowly folded into silence.

“No. My name is Isobel.”

“Isobel,” he repeated.

There was no spark of recognition.

I sat beside him and opened the blue box.

He studied the silver ring. “Pretty.”

Edward stepped forward, but I gently raised my hand to stop him.

I didn’t want anyone protecting me from reality.

“Do you remember a willow tree?”

Benjamin frowned.

“A yellow dress?”

His fingers began lightly tapping the blanket.

“That’s enough for today.”

In the hallway, I rested against the wall, unable to steady myself.

Wren wrapped both arms around me.

“Oh, Aunt Isobel,” she whispered.

“He came back,” I said quietly, “but the part of him that remembered me never did.”

Edward wiped away tears with the back of his hand.

“Can I come back and see him again?”

He stared at me in surprise. “You still want to?”

“I don’t even know what I want anymore. But I know I’m not ready to leave.”

I returned two days later. Then I came back twice more the following week.

Eventually, I stopped bringing out the ring or asking him whether he remembered.

Some visits he listened. Others he slept through.

One afternoon, he called me by his late wife’s name.

The mistake stung, but I let it pass.

He looked embarrassed. “I keep losing people,” he said. “In my mind and for real.”

On another visit, I was reading aloud when he interrupted.

“That fellow talks too much.”

I smiled and closed the book. “You talked all night once.”

“Did I?”

“Under a willow tree, Benjamin.”

“You were.”

“Did it work?”

“For over 60 years.”

He smiled.

Later, Edward caught up with me in the hallway.

“This is hurting you, Isobel. I can see it.”

“Maybe you should come less often.”

I turned to face him.

“You brought me here. Now you want me to disappear?”

Edward looked away, tears forming in his eyes as he uttered the painful truth that threatened to tear us apart forever…