Adam held the shell in his gnarled hands. In some ways, it reminded him of his skin. He shook his head, trying not to think of his age. How he could be so impressed by the shell’s age, yet despise his own, was a conundrum. Yet as he sat in his wheelchair at the beach, near the shore, he couldn’t bring himself to toss the shell back into the sea. He would be dying soon, so it would be no use to keep it.

With a sigh, he wheeled himself back to the restaurant where his family was waiting. He handed his daughter the shell.

“Dad, that’s beautiful. Thank you,” she said, holding his hand firm.

He nodded, trying to ignore the tears in his eyes. _It’ll be the last thing I ever give. _