“When you fall in love with someone, you’re not supposed to lose them right away. That’s tragic. I mean, normal breakups—like if someone cheated or lied, I don’t know. Those would be easier, but when it’s something inside a person that takes them away, little by little, each day a tiny bit more, it paralyzes you.”

I had to take a breath.

And then, I found I could continue.

“Damian never wanted to accept what was happening to him. He wanted to deny it. He wanted to remain normal, but every day he had to make a small adjustment to keep the lie going for himself. Suddenly he couldn’t drive during busy times because it was too dangerous, not because it confused him. Not because one time he forgot how to get home, and he had to call me.”

“Where are you?”

“I don’t know.”

“We were three years in. Seven months before the wedding, he forgot my name. He stared at me with this blank look. He was terrified. I thought he was terrified about the wedding, and I teased him about it. I’d had to ask him three times to send the save-the-dates. I thought he kept forgetting them in his car because of cold feet.”

It hadn’t been cold feet.

“We lied to everyone. I told everyone he was stressed at his job, and that he wanted to put the wedding off one more year. Everyone… I don’t even know what my family said to my extended family. My sister was panicked, wondering if everything was okay, but I couldn’t tell her. Because I knew my world was falling apart, but even then I didn’t really understand. And I was stubborn. I knew something was happening, but I didn’t want to accept it. I didn’t want to lose him, not just yet. So I held on, and I lied too. I denied too. It’s easier than fully walking away, because what are you walking away from? Your future? Someone who was going to be your husband? The guy you thought would be an amazing father to your future children? The guy who could light up the room with one laugh, one look, one touch. He was mine, and then he wasn’t. The disease took him, but not right away. At first we all became roommates: Damian, me, the disease. It slowly ate at him, and he kept refusing to go in. Kept saying they couldn’t even diagnose him if it was what we thought it was, that it was pointless. That—”

I couldn’t speak. My throat was scraping against itself. I could taste the blood.

“And that’s when I lost myself.”

“Damian …” I’d whispered once in bed.

He’d rolled over and stared at me. Then flatly said, “Get out.”