The Final Move

After the car accident, my father lost his memory and had been living in a care facility. I visited him every week.

He was in good spirits today, sitting quietly by the window, fiddling with a chess set.

The caretaker smiled and told me he'd become obsessed with it lately, and was getting quite good.

But I felt ice run through my veins. I couldn't bring myself to take another step toward him.

That chess set had belonged to my late mother. My father had sworn in front of every family member we had that he would never touch a chess set again for as long as he lived.