Asking Alex to come home had been one of the most difficult phone calls Paul had ever made. But he’d needed his brother’s help and support with their mother and the business he was trying to keep afloat while also trying to care for Marion.

It was better now that he had all kinds of great help, but each day was still filled with the despair that came with watching a loved one become someone you don’t recognize—and who doesn’t recognize you.

Now he also had a bunch of questions about what Ethan had let slip earlier. He’d hoped to get a chance to talk to Alex about it, but he hadn’t had a moment alone with his brother. He’d talk to him tomorrow. Not that he thought they had anything to fear from Hope.

She was doing an amazing job with their mom, and for the first time since Marion’s condition had worsened, Paul felt like they had things under control—for the most part anyway. No, he had to play this carefully. If he pried into her life and pissed her off, she might leave them, and that would be the worst thing that could happen.

Paul lived in mortal fear of driving Hope away. The thought of losing her help with their mom was unthinkable. Besides, she and Ethan had begun to seem like part of the family, and he wanted them to feel at home here.

“Beautiful night,” Hope said from the porch of the cabin.

Paul hadn’t realized she was there. With the lights off in the cabin, he couldn’t see a thing in the darkness. “Sure is. Best time of year for stargazing.”

“I love it here. It’s so beautiful.”

“I’m glad you like it. I was just sitting here thinking that I can’t recall how we ever got by without you.”

“Dementia is such a bitch.”

“It certainly is. Every time she mistakes me for my dad…”

“My heart breaks for you, Paul. It’s got to be so hard.”

The empathy he heard in her voice wrapped around him like a warm blanket. “She and my dad were great together. Still holding hands after thirty years. Sometimes I think his death triggered her dementia. It’s like she needs to forget he’s gone or something.”

“Grief is a complicated emotion, especially when coupled with dementia.”

“Alex and I had to stop correcting her every time she asks for Dad. We can’t stand breaking the news to her over and over again. It’s like she loses him every time.”

“You guys have done such an admirable job of dealing with it for so long.”

“We’ve done the best we could, but we were just getting by until you came along.”