Ten Days of Memory

From the back cover

Lauren is a painter engaged to Richard, the youngest professor at the university, a man everyone admires for his gentleness. Then a diagnosis arrives: early-stage Alzheimer's, deteriorating fast, with only about ten days of lucid memory left. The doctor says her remaining clear time can be counted in days.

On the first of those days, Richard brings his student Erica home late at night. From behind the bedroom door Lauren hears their laughter, smells unfamiliar perfume, and watches Erica throw herself into his arms without being pushed away. He cooks for Erica, though he once swore he would never enter a kitchen again, and the lipstick stain, the motorcycle that knocks Lauren down, the scalding soup, all meet the same answer: she is imagining things.

With less than seventy-two hours of memory left, Lauren lies in a hospital bed as Richard takes a call and hurries to Erica. She pulls out the IV needle and writes the last sentence she will ever remember: don't forgive Richard. Later she truly forgets him, but he stands at her door holding roses, eyes red, begging to be forgiven.