“What do you want people to remember?”
Adrian closed eyes briefly.
Not because dying.
Tired.
When he opened:
“Not card.”
“Then?”
“That person should not need power for rules to work.”
Nia typed slowly.
“That’s actually good.”
“Thank you.”
“Still too long.”
She edited:
Rules should work before status matters.
Adrian stared.
“Better.”
She smiled proudly.
Maybe every generation improves copy.
A week later, Adrian’s condition declined.
Family gathered.
No conference.
No public.
Elise slept in chair.
Caleb on couch.
Olivia brought children then took home.
Adrian drifted.
Sometimes he thought Lydia was in room.
Once he said:
“Lyd, bowls go bottom.”
Elise cried and laughed.
“She hated your dishwasher.”
“Yes.”
He knew suddenly.
Then not.
At one point Adrian asked:
“Did deal close?”
Caleb looked at Elise.
“What deal?”
“Calderon.”
Elise took his hand.
“No, Dad.”
“We walked.”
Adrian relaxed.
“Good.”
Years collapsed.
Another afternoon he asked:
“Naomi?”
“Gone.”
He frowned.
“Good CEO.”
“Yes.”
“Terrence?”
“Retired.”
“Claire?”
Elise hesitated.
“She died years ago.”
Adrian nodded.
“Changed.”
“Yes.”
He closed eyes.
Later he whispered:
“Lydia?”
Elise’s voice broke.
“She died, Dad.”
Adrian opened eyes.
Pain came fresh for one second.
Then softened.
“Right.”
He turned toward window.
“I hate forgetting.”
“I know.”
He smiled faintly.
“You sound like me.”
“I learned.”
His final lucid conversation was with Caleb.
Night.
Elise sleeping.
Caleb sat.
Adrian looked toward him.
“Card?”
Caleb laughed quietly.
“Still have.”
“I told recycle.”
“Mom wouldn’t.”
“Throw after.”
“You really hate artifacts.”
“People turn objects into meaning.”
“Sometimes okay.”
Adrian considered.
“Yes.”
“Sometimes.”
Caleb said:
“I might keep.”
“Your choice.”
That answer was important.
Adrian no longer needed control.
Caleb asked:
“Anything you want me to do?”
“No.”
“Nothing?”
“Live.”
“That’s vague.”