Holding.

He recalled holding her hand for the first time, as he was holding it now, possibly for the last. The first time was on the pier. She had wanted to promenade like a Victorian lady, and even as she told him she started to laugh at her own words. He laughed too and agreed. Like so many other things she initiated the holding. She was bold and took joy in the moment, sliding her soft fingers into his hand, intertwining her fingers with his.
Now her grip was less sure, less firm. The medication had robbed her of her physical strength, but not of her heart.

He was unsure if she was even aware of his presence until she feebly squeezed his hand. A memory of that first touch seized him and nearly broke him in half.
Reaching into his pocket he pulled out a tissue and started to dab at his eyes, hoping to stem the tears welling there.
She had always been the unbreakable one and here she was now, at this moment, broken.

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