I remember her fear more than my pleads.

I’d never seen someone genuinely afraid of books. It was as if she thought the pages would give her a fatal illness.

“You don’t understand. Why aren’t you listening to me! You’re in this too. Help me. You have to!” I begged, my hands shaking.

She shook her head in disbelief. I just needed her to understand. I picked up one of the books that I’d had hidden in the air conditioner vent.

“Hamlet. You remember reading this in grade school, right? You have to remember. Please Margret.” I flipped open the book and felt the faded pages fly.

I read in a panicked voice to Margret, desperate for some sign of remembrance.

“There’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance. Pray you, love, remember. And there is pansies. That’s for thoughts.” I saw Margret relax just a bit.

She always had a soft spot for Ophelia. That’s why I married her. She was always so kind, my Margret.