Someone cleared behind me, and I glanced back from the willow to see Chanyeol’s wife, a small smile gracing her lips.

                “Hello.”  There was a tenderness to her voice, and from the way she had treated Chanyeol, I knew he still had a fondness toward “softies.”  “I don’t know if you remember, but a few days ago, well, we didn’t meet exactly, but…”

                “Chanyeol’s wife, I’m presuming?”  There was perhaps a tinge of jealousy in my voice, something I hadn’t expected.

                Her eyes in prettily shaped crescents, she smiled warmly at me, and I knew that was the smile he must’ve fallen for.  “Yes.  I’m sorry to bother you, but I was wondering how exactly you knew Chanyeol.”

                “We were… good friends back in the day.”

                She seemed to relax.  “Oh, well you must’ve been quite close.  I’m Tiffany.”

                “Kris.”  I didn’t miss the slight tense of her neck but thought nothing of it and shook her outstretched hand, puzzled.  “Why—why do you say that?”

                “I knew you looked familiar from somewhere.  I was tidying up one day, and I found some of his old sketches.  There are two whole books full of sketches of your face.  I thought it quite strange.”

                “Really.”  I swallowed at my dry throat, my fingertips losing sensation.

                “Of course, you’ve changed, but the features are still there, and those books had been on top of a book of willow tree sketches.  It all just clicked.  You should come visit sometime.  You two seem to have been together a lot for him to have all those sketches.  I’m sure he would love to see you.”

                My throat seared.  “He doesn’t remember me.”

                Silence crept around us, suffocated us until her eyes dulled, the corners of slackening in just the slightest.  Tiffany cleared .  “You must’ve caught him at a bad time.  Sometimes he remembers in bits and pieces.  Sometimes he remembers the past and not the present.  There are times when he doesn’t remember me either.”  She didn’t look at me.

                It took a moment to absorb it, to raise my eyes from the ground to her face.  “What?”

                Still didn’t look at me.  “He was diagnosed with early-onset Alzheimer’s last year.”

                And all I could see was Chanyeol kneading his forehead in pain, tossing about as he plummeted endlessly into his nightmares.  I should have known.  Should have stayed with him all those decades ago.  Should have taken care of him.  Should’ve been his Tiffany.

                But all I could choke out was, “I’m sorry.  I didn’t know.”

                She nodded slowly.  “You really should come see him though.  He,” she hesitated, flickered her gaze to my eyes, “he really does remember you.  I’ve never asked him about it, but I’ve seen him—seen him trace his fingers over his sketches of you.”

                “Oh.”  My vision clouded.

                “I always know when he doesn’t remember me because he asks who I am.”  There’s something heart wrenching about the way she has to fight to look up at me again.  “Because he asks where Kris is.”

                “Oh.”  I wondered if my voice was audible, if I was still on my feet.

                “Please.”  I stood frozen, numb, as Tiffany crumpled, her knees hitting the grass-covered dirt.  “Please come see him.  I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know, I don’t know—”

                And I enveloped her in my arms because we’d both fallen victim to the curse of loving a cursed man.