After I died, they began to miss me

Lately, I've been feeling off. The doctor diagnosed me with Alzheimer's. He tried to be reassuring, saying, "Look at you, dressed so well. You must have a good life. This disease can be managed. Don't let your husband and kids worry too much. Why don't you call them? I'll explain everything."

I opened my contacts, staring at the family section. My son, who cut ties when he moved abroad. My rebellious daughter, who resents me for interfering with her love life. My husband, probably out with his latest girlfriend. I couldn't decide who to call.

I closed my phone. "It's okay," I said quietly, "I won't tell them." This time, I would forget them all.

After leaving the hospital, a rare snow fell on Charleston. I'm from up north, but in thirty years here, I'd never seen snow so early. They say a good snowfall brings a good harvest. Maybe it was a good omen.

I squinted, struggling to remember the way home. I finally opted for a cab. The payment app had updated, and I fumbled with it, earning a glare from the driver.

Finally, I was home. The large house was empty and silent as always. I mechanically tidied the dining table and reheated leftovers. I’d let the housekeeper go a few weeks ago. No need for so much help for just me.

Halfway through cooking, I spaced out, leaving the burner on. I nearly started a fire. The food was blackened and unappetizing. I forced down a few bites and went to bed.

John didn't come home until after midnight. I heard the key in the door, pulled on a robe, and went downstairs. He was sitting in the living room, smoking. He’d dyed his graying hair. Combined with his smooth skin and trim figure, he looked almost as young as he had years ago. Well-maintained, I thought, no wonder he attracts so many women.

He saw me and stubbed out his cigarette. "Still up?"

I nodded. "Getting old," I joked, "Nerves are shot." John had been politely distant for years. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. "Sorry. I'll stay at a hotel next time I'm out late."

He smelled of a familiar perfume. I vaguely remembered it from one of his girlfriends. After a silence, he confessed, "David's back in town. We had a welcome home dinner. He still doesn't want to see you, because of…you know. So, I took Sarah."

I just nodded. "Oh." I was right. It was Sarah’s perfume. My memory wasn’t as bad as the doctor made it out to be.

"Have you eaten?" he asked, still feeling guilty. "I can make you something."

I cut him off. "John, we need to talk." I put on my glasses, fumbling to find them in their case. I finally found the papers and handed them to him.

He read them, his face paling.

I sighed. "John, after Mom died earlier this year…I thought… maybe our marriage could end too. We've both been unhappy. We never loved each other, but we married anyway. We’re old now. Let’s set each other free. Isn't that what we've always wanted?"

John was silent, lighting another cigarette. I couldn’t see his expression through the smoke.

I chuckled awkwardly. "David a...