Twisted Ties of Love (Izabella Salotti and Brett) novel Chapter 590

"Home, Dad. This is home," Emily would explain at least three times a day, a tinge of sadness in her voice. "I'm your daughter, Celeste, and this is Boris, your son."

It was only when she mentioned their names that Casey would snap back to a semblance of recognition.

Pulling out her smartphone, Emily would scroll through the gallery and flash their family portrait before Casey's eyes, "Look, Dad, this is us—your family."

Casey's gaze would fix on the image of Izabella, his wife, and a faint whisper would escape his lips, "Bella..."

His memory was a patchwork quilt—sometimes whole, sometimes frayed. Emily's gentle prompt would stitch together fragments of recollection.

Noticing it was still early, Emily suggested Casey get some more rest in his room.

Casey refused, not from lack of fatigue, but from an insomnia that sharpened his mind at night. Thoughts of Izabella, gone at sixty-seven, leaving him alone, would carve deep hollows of pain, rendering sleep elusive.

Casey cradled Izabella's photograph, tracing her features with a familiarity born of decades. It was a gesture he'd made countless times when she was alive, and now, it was a ritual that kept her close, if only in memory.

How could he not yearn for Izabella, his companion of forty years, now forever out of reach?

On New Year's Eve, while a variety show hummed unwatched on television, Casey lit every lamp in the house, one by one, illuminating the quiet space. Dinner would be sweet pie, a symbol of unity and perfection.

From the upstairs window, Casey watched the distant flicker of lights. Emily brought him a bowl of the sweet pie, reminding him to eat.

The filling wasn't sweet enough. It didn't suit Izabella's taste. Casey opened the drawer by his bed, took out a handful of sugar cubes, and dropped them into the bowl until they dissolved.

Tasting it again, he found the sweetness just right. Lifting the bowl, he murmured, "Bella, the pie is sweet now. Try some..."

He turned, only to remember—his sweet-toothed Izabella had passed away two weeks prior.

With a heavy heart, Casey set the bowl down, his eyes brimming with tears that fell into the pie, stirring faint ripples in the once perfect dessert.

This New Year's Eve was the loneliest he'd ever experienced, devoid of vibrant reds, even the fireworks overhead seemed to have lost their color. Only the bright lights within the house reached out into the darkness.

Bella, I've left the lights on for you. I know you're afraid of the dark. Follow the light, remember to come home.

...

Casey, battling Alzheimer's, had a penchant for wandering. One moment of inattention and he would vanish, leaving his children and the household staff searching everywhere.

Sometimes he'd be found at the orphanage, other times by the riverbank, or at the amusement park—places Izabella loved, tracing every trace of her he could find.

Today was supposed to be a routine checkup at the hospital, but halfway there, Casey slipped away again. Age hadn't dulled his wits when it came to escape.

Where had Casey gone?

He ended up at the cemetery, sitting against Izabella's headstone with a stick of candied fruit in his hand.

Izabella, always smiling, had insisted on choosing her own memorial photograph—a black and white image that captured her sweet, tender smile.

As the sun rose and set, as stars danced across the sky, nothing compared to the beauty of her smile. To have accompanied her from beginning to end was his life's greatest fortune.

As Casey closed his eyes, a door seemed to open before him, and there was Izabella, smiling, reaching out her hand, "Big brother, Ryker, Casey... we promised, next life too, together."

Clutching the candy, Casey smiled gently toward Izabella's image.

How wonderful, they had a next life to look forward to.

...

Knowing Casey's tendency to wander, his children had long since implanted a tracker on him, unbeknownst to him. It was their silent guardian, ensuring they could always bring him back home.

When Casey "took off" this time, his siblings, Emily and her older brother, had already caught the notification on their phone tracker. Emily wanted to intercept him, but her brother stopped her.

Their dad wasn't just wandering aimlessly; he was visiting their mother's grave at the cemetery.

Overwhelmed with longing, he missed her deeply.

Worried that he might run into trouble, the siblings discreetly followed him, keeping their distance so as not to intrude.

They watched as their father stopped by a street vendor and bought a stick of candied apples before entering the cemetery. They observed him leaning against the tombstone, slowly eating the candied apples, and finally, holding onto the leftover stick. Then, they saw him pull out a handful of sugar cubes from his pocket and place them in front of their mother's headstone. In the end, they watched as he embraced the stone, resting his face against their mother’s photo and quietly fell asleep.

The septuagenarian clutched a single sugar cube in his hand. As the weather was warm, the sugar slowly melted in the palm of his hand.

Life may be forgetful, but love grows stronger with each passing day, unwavering until death.