Suddenly, the locked door, the late-night whispers, the reluctance for anyone else to take his place—they all made sense. The journals were Mrs. Turner’s lifeline, and Ethan was the keeper of her memories, the guardian of her fading world.Grace stepped back, heart heavy with a mix of sorrow and guilt for not having realized sooner. She quietly returned to her room, this time with a resolve to change things. The next morning, Grace approached Ethan with a tenderness she hadn’t felt in months.

“Ethan,” she began, her voice steady but soft. “I saw the photographs, the journals. I understand now. Let me help. We’re in this together.”Ethan’s eyes widened, not with shock, but with relief. It was as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He nodded, a small tear escaping to trail down his cheek.In the following weeks, Grace became a more active part of the nightly rituals. She learned to read the journals, to retell the stories with as much love and patience as Ethan. Together, they transformed Mrs. Turner’s room into a sanctuary of memories, a place where the past was a beacon lighting the way through the fog of her illness.