Instead of walking straight to the bathroom, I slowed beside the kitchen entrance.

That was when I saw him.

Mark stood with his back partly toward me.

He removed a small folded packet from his pocket.

He opened it.

Then emptied a fine white substance into my soup.

He stirred twice.

My heart began pounding.

And suddenly, the previous six months of my life rearranged themselves in my mind.

The dizziness.

The headaches.

Walking into rooms and forgetting why.

Losing words halfway through sentences.

Falling asleep unusually early.

Feeling clumsy.

Feeling foggy.

Mark always had explanations.

“You didn’t eat enough.”

“You’re stressed.”

“You work too much.”

“You’re fifty, Diane. People change.”

Once, after I became confused while driving to a grocery store I had visited for years, I pulled into a parking lot and cried.

When I told Mark later, he smiled gently.

“Welcome to getting older.”

Even my doctor had struggled to explain everything.