Ariel dreaded the M.I.U. and its decaying grandeur.
Gram rested in an over-sized chair before a silent television. The other residents’ smiles quavered, searching for recognition. They found none.
The nurse whispered a warning in Ariel’s ear. A tear slid over Ariel’s cheek as she stroked her Gram’s pigment-free hair.
Gram stirred and searched Ariel’s face. “Is it you?”
Her heart leapt. “Yes, Gram, it’s Ariel. I love you.”
Gram’s bony finger collected her tear. “I love you, too, dear.”
Ariel cried into her Gram’s lap, uncertain even at the end if her Gram really recognized her.