Chapter 20

Chapter Twenty

NEIL

Dr. Bennington's office was almost too quiet as Mom, Bessie, and I sat there waiting for him to come in. The walls were lined with certificates and diplomas, a testament to the man's expertise, but none of it made this any easier. Mom sat beside me, holding a rumpled envelope. She'd carried it everywhere for weeks, unable to let it go or open it. Bessie was on her other side, pale but determined, my sister's eyes flicking between the door and the letter as if she couldn't decide which was scarier.

Dr. Bennington came in, and his expression was a mix of professional detachment and the kind of sympathy you only get from someone who's had to deliver bad news too many times. After the usual stilted pleasantries, he opened Dad's file, the name GARRETT WINDHAM in big bold letters on the front.

"Let's talk about Garrett's condition," Dr. Bennington began, settling into his chair. He glanced at the file in front of him, then back up at us. "As you're aware, the bullet fragment that remained lodged in Garrett's brain has been causing increasing problems. Initially, it was stable, not moving much, but it's shifted over the past few months."

He paused, letting that sink in. I could see Mom's grip tighten on the armrest of her chair, her knuckles white. I knew she was already aware of this, but hearing it laid out so clinically made it all the more real.

"The fragment is pressing against critical areas of his brain," Dr. Bennington continued, his tone even but heavy with the weight of his words. "This pressure has led to a decline in cognitive function, contributing significantly to his symptoms. We're seeing more frequent and severe strokes as a result of this pressure. Each one takes a bit more from him."

I swallowed hard, feeling a lump forming in my throat.

"And then there's the dementia," Dr. Bennington continued, his gaze steady as he checked in with each of us. "As you know, Garrett's dementia is what we call mixed dementia. It's primarily vascular dementia caused by the mini-strokes, but it's also compounded by brain injury from the bullet fragment. It's progressing more rapidly than we typically see because of these factors."

He paused again, giving us a moment to digest everything. "The dementia affects his ability to process information and understand what's happening around him. His short-term memory is deteriorating quickly."

"He's having trouble recognizing familiar faces and places," Mom said. "Keeps talking about things that happened a long time ago."

Dr. Bennington nodded. "His brain is essentially reverting to what it knows, what's deeply embedded, and letting go of the present."

I could feel my heart sinking with every word. It wasn't as though I hadn't noticed the changes in Dad, but hearing it laid out in such stark terms made it all the more devastating. We were watching someone we loved slip away, and no matter how hard we tried, we could do nothing to stop it.

"There's something else you should know," Dr. Bennington said, his tone softer now, more compassionate. "The combination of the bullet fragment and the dementia means that Garrett's condition will continue to decline. We can manage the symptoms, but we can't reverse them. The strokes will likely continue, and his cognitive abilities will keep deteriorating. It's important to understand that the Garrett you knew…"

"Isn't coming back," I finished for him.

Dr. Bennington nodded, his eyes full of understanding. "I'm sorry. I know this isn't easy to hear. But you must understand what's happening to make the best decisions for his care."

I glanced at Mom, who stared down at the envelope, her face a mask of barely contained grief. Bessie's eyes were red-rimmed, her hands clenched tightly in her lap as she tried to hold herself together. I knew I had to be the strong one for them, but damn if it wasn't hard.

"We'll do what we have to," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "For him and us."

Dr. Bennington gave a slight nod, acknowledging the weight of that statement. "The next step is to transition Garrett into the assisted living facility. They'll be able to provide the level of care he needs as his condition progresses. It's not an easy decision, but it's right." Dr. Bennington handed us some papers and information on the assisted living facility they'd been discussing—the place where Dad would spend the rest of his life.

I glanced at Mom again, who finally met my gaze, her eyes filled with unspoken pain. Dad had written the letter she held in her lap a long time ago when his memory had started playing tricks on him, and the first scans showed the damage and confirmed it would only deteriorate.

"I'll leave you to talk," the doctor said.

I didn't even hear him leave—it was just us three remaining in the room.

"Mom," I said gently, "maybe it's time to open Dad's letter."

She stared at me, her eyes filling with tears, and then she nodded. Slowly, almost reverently, she handed the letter to me. "Will you read it for us?" she asked.

How could I say no?

I took the envelope, feeling the creases and worn edges beneath my fingers. After a deep breath, I unfolded the letter, smoothing out the crumpled paper.

Dad's handwriting was shaky but familiar, the words scrawled in uneven lines.

Everyone—

Before I say anything else, please know how deeply proud I am of each of you .

To my wonderful daughter, Bessie, you've blossomed into such a strong, remarkable woman. The life you've created fills my heart with pride, and I couldn't be happier with the man you chose to spend it with. Eric, you've been the anchor your family needed. I couldn't have wished for a better son-in-law.

To my grandson, Jason—what a bright and spirited boy you are. It breaks my heart that I won't be there to watch you grow, but I have no doubt you'll be the best and excel in whatever path you choose. I know you'll make all of us so proud.

To Neil, my son, I've always been in awe of you.

I was choked up and had to stop a moment—Mom reaching over to touch my hand. We exchanged glances, and she nodded her encouragement, so clearing my throat, I carried on.

Watching you become the sheriff and the man you are today has been one of my greatest joys. I know I didn't handle things well when you came out to us, and I regret that deeply. I'm so sorry for the hurt I caused. You deserve nothing less than a love that fills you with joy, the way your mom has filled my life with happiness. I know you'll find that person, and I'll be cheering you on, wherever I am.

And my beautiful wife, Chloe. My love, you've been my rock, my safe harbor in every storm. Even when the light in my mind started to dim, you were there, unwavering. I love you more than words could ever express, and it pains me to say goodbye like this. If you're reading this, then we both know it's time. The world feels overwhelming now, and I'm ready to move into the assisted living Dr. Bennington spoke to us about. Please know that I'm at peace with this decision. I'm not afraid, and I'm happy knowing you all will be okay.

I love you all so much. More than you'll ever know.

It's time.

When I finished reading, the room was thick with emotion, my mom crying, Bessie holding her hand. None of us spoke for a moment, letting the weight of Dad's words settle in, and then we walked outside, needing the fresh air and the open space. The three of us huddled together, arms wrapped around each other, and let the tears fall. It was the kind of grief that couldn't be contained and had to be let out, and we didn't hold back.

As we separated, Eric waited with Jason beside him. Connor was there, too. I hadn't expected Connor to come, but seeing him there, solid and steady, made something inside me relax.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him.

"I thought I could help," he murmured, unsure. In a moment of madness, I grabbed his hand and tugged him toward Mom.

"Mum, you know Connor," I said, my voice rough with emotion, thinking of my dad's words.

"Hello, Connor," she said with a smile.

"He's my…" I paused and glanced at him. The big idiot just smiled at me.

"Boyfriend. I'm his boyfriend."

Bessie nodded, stepping forward to hug Connor. "It's about time," she whispered .

Connor smiled at her, returning the hug with one arm, the other hand resting on my back. It was a simple gesture, but it meant everything. Whatever came next, I knew we'd face it as a family, with Connor included, for as long as we were together.

Maybe forever.

Who knew.

We stood there for a long time, all of us, wrapped in the warmth of each other's presence. It wasn't going to be easy, and the road ahead was full of uncertainty. But for now, we had an idea of what happened next. And that had to be enough.