My Childhood Sweetheart Asked Me to Sign a Special Folder in Room Four Hundred Seven

of the month.

“I don’t care about the bank, Ben,” I said, my thumb still tracing the edge of my silver band. “I care about you.”

“I know, kid,” he said, his fingers resuming their slow drumming against the hospital sheet. “But we have to be practical. Tomorrow afternoon, then.”

“We’ve been neighbors since we were seven,” I said, looking at the faded wallpaper continue reading …