Chapter 3 - The Shattered Mirror
The words hung in the air like falling glass, sharp, lethal, and impossible to piece back together.
Frontotemporal dementia.
I stared at Dr. Vance, waiting for him to crack a smile, to tell me it was a sick joke, a prank, a nightmare from which I would soon wake up. But his face remained dead serious, carved from the exhausting reality of a physician who had delivered terminal news a thousand times before.
— No, — I breathed out, shaking my head violently. — That’s impossible. I remember driving Maya to school this morning. I remember working at the firm. I remember... — My voice trailed off as a sudden, sickening wave of vertigo washed over me.
I tried to picture my office downtown, the projects I had supposedly overseen last week, the face of my business partner. When I reached for those memories, my mind grasped at smoke. They weren't there. Or rather, they were fragmented, jagged pieces of a life that felt like it belonged to a stranger.
I looked at Sarah. She was still kneeling on the floor, holding Maya close against her chest, tears cutting clean tracks through the dust and soot on her cheeks.
— You... you knew? — I whispered, the realization crashing down on me with the weight of an avalanche.
— The diagnosis came six months ago, Daniel, — Sarah said, her voice cracking as she finally looked up at me. Her eyes weren't accusatory; they were drowning in an ocean of grief she had been carrying entirely alone. — The neurologist said the disease would change your personality first. It would make you paranoid, aggressive, forgetful, and prone to violent mood swings you couldn't control.
The memories rushed back, but not the ones I wanted. I remembered the sudden anger that had flared up over nothing last month when Sarah misplaced my car keys. I remembered the terrifying blank spots in my calendar. I remembered the way Sarah’s shoulders always seemed tense, as if she were walking on broken glass inside her own home.
— Why didn't you tell me? — I choked out, a sob tearing its way out of my throat. — Why did you hide it? Why was the doctor sneaking in like a thief in the middle of the night?
— Because every time we tried to talk to you about entering a care facility or starting regular treatments, you threatened to pack up Maya and leave, — Dr. Vance answered quietly, packing his instruments into the black case. — Your aggressive paranoia made you view medical professionals as enemies. Sarah begged me to come after you fell into a deep sleep so we could manage your nighttime agitation without triggering a violent episode that could endanger your daughter.
I looked at Maya. My sweet, quiet, observant eight-year-old daughter.
— And Maya? — I asked, my voice barely audible. — Did she know?
Maya slipped out of Sarah’s arms and walked slowly over to me. She didn't look scared. She reached out her small, warm hand and placed it gently against my cheek, her thumb wiping away a tear I hadn't realized was falling.
May you like
— I knew the man in black wasn't a bad guy, Dad, — Maya said softly. — He carried a medicine box, not a weapon. And I saw Mom crying every single night after you fell asleep. She was scared you wouldn't remember us in the morning.
The dam broke. I pulled my little girl into my arms, burying my face in her hair, weeping with a sorrow so deep and absolute that it felt like my soul was splitting in two.
