Scotch on the Rocks

by Elliot Fletcher

He insulted her so casually, like he was reading aloud an article from the newspaper. That was the cruelty of Alzheimer’s. It took more than the ability to create and retrieve memories, it stole empathy, and Jim Macabe hadn’t been an empathetic man to begin with.

“All this time I’ve been viewing Alistair, even my birth parents, as the villains in my life. Evil masterminds twirling their moustaches while they plotted the most painful methods to wreck me. I can see now that I’ve been giving them too much credit, because the truth is . . .” The words wobbled past trembling lips. But I had to get this out, needed him to understand all the ways he’d helped me heal. “The truth is . . . they just didn’t love me enough.”