A delicate hand slips in mine.
I turn to see a woman who has a million stories to tell, if only she could remember them. We walk in circles as she whispers incoherently. She’s physically present, but mentally she’s somewhere not even she can recognize.
A nurse moves behind her and pulls at her shoulders. “Come on, Ms. Abigail.”
Ms. Abigail trembles at her touch, her hand grips mine tighter.
The nurse pulls harder. “Come on.”
I don’t know Ms. Abigail and she doesn’t know me, yet my heart breaks just the same as I let her hand go.
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