Tom woke as a sliver of moonlight sliced through the open bedroom door. He watched Nan slip through, pulling her dressing gown tightly around her.
Closing his eyes he remained alert to the sounds she made as she made her way downstairs carefully, quietly.
Smiling ‘she probably thinks I haven’t heard her’ he thought.
He assumed she would draw some water for a drink or head to the bathroom and when neither of those sounds floated through the floorboards he was concerned.
‘What is she doing?’ he asked himself
Ever since the prognosis he had been on high alert for any change in behaviour.
‘She probably won’t notice it herself’, the doctor had said, ‘but you will’.
It had seemed so final and he had been on tenterhooks ever since.
The backdoor creaked a little as it opened and he slid out of bed and went to the window. Looking out he saw her heading across the garden to the swing seat.
She sat and leant backwards and gazed up at the sky using her foot to start the seat swinging.
She looked so peaceful and he was almost overcome as he realised just how much he loved her.
They must have stayed like that for a good half hour; she on the seat, he in the window. When she eventually got up Tom slipped back into bed.
‘Where have you been my love?’ he whispered, holding her close.
She sighed, ‘just reaching for the stars Tom, just reaching for the stars’.