“What are you going to leave Monica with once you’re gone?” Her voice was strained. You tilted your head. “You can leave her all the money in the world, but it won’t be what she needs. She will always want to know more about you and the life you led, and if you don’t share it now, it may be too late—”

“Stop.” It hurt to raise my voice. I thought only Edward could make me do so. “What right do you have to my story?” By then I was looking above her, right at you, when you were twenty. “Why should I relive all of that just to share it with you? It was not a kind time. I don’t—I can’t—”

“You are writing it all down anyway, aren’t you?” She gestured at my pencil, at the paper. “You are reliving it, so please, please let me archive it—”

“Did you come here,” I said suddenly, the thought constricting itself around my heart, which had so recently softened for her. “Did you drive all this way for Monica or for me?”

“For you,” she said without hesitation. You vanished as soon as I tore my eyes away from her. I looked to my worn-out hands, wishing they could be strong and capable again instead of wrinkled and frail, to give myself something, anything, to make me feel like I could still protect Monica.

“Please leave,” I whispered.

“I just mean—of course I came here for Monica too. But she would have been fine whether I came or not. She’s stronger than she thinks. But your story—”

“Leave.”

“Please. I’m begging you not to just give it up.”

“I think we should leave Grandmother now.”

Even I had not noticed her, though I was facing the door and used to her quiet ways. Her face gave away nothing as to how long she had been there. It was calm, just as it had been when each of her parents left.

“This—” your girl stammered. She looked between me and Monica. “This wasn’t how I wanted this to go.”

“Monica,” I began, even though I did not know how I would finish the sentence.

“You should rest now,” Monica said. “I’ll come see you again tomorrow.”

She nodded at the door. Your girl looked at me. You were back to floating alongside her, eyes accusing me. The two of you turned slowly toward the door and walked out, Monica following behind.

I stared at the closed door. I think a fog must have hit me at some point after they left, because the next time I felt like myself again, it was dark and the pencil Torou left me was gripped tightly in my hand.