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.