The Notebook - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,62

to express my sorrow for this, and I am at a loss for words.

So I love you so deeply, so incredibly much, that I will find a way to come back to you despite my disease, I promise you that. And this is where the story comes in. When I am lost and lonely, read this story—just as you told it to the children—and know that in some way, I will realize it’s about us. And perhaps, just perhaps, we will find a way to be together again.

Please don’t be angry with me on days I do not remember you, and we both know they will come. Know that I love you, that I always will, and that no matter what happens, know I have led the greatest life possible. My life with you.

And if you save this letter to read again, then believe what I am writing for you now. Noah, wherever you are and whenever this is, I love you. I love you now as I write this, and I love you now as you read this. And I am so sorry if I am not able to tell you. I love you deeply, my husband. You are, and always have been, my dream.

Allie

When I am finished with the letter, I put it aside. I rise from my desk and find my slippers. They are near my bed, and I must sit to put them on. Then, standing, I cross the room and open my door. I peek down the hall and see Janice seated at the main desk. At least I think it is Janice. I must pass this desk to get to Allie’s room, but at this hour I am not supposed to leave my room, and Janice has never been one to bend the rules. Her husband is a lawyer.

I wait to see if she will leave, but she does not seem to be moving, and I grow impatient. I finally exit my room anyway, slow-shuffle, slide-the-right, slow-shuffle. It takes aeons to close the distance, but for some reason she does not see me approaching. I am a silent panther creeping through the jungle, I am as invisible as baby pigeons.

In the end I am discovered, but I am not surprised. I stand before her.

“Noah,” she says, “what are you doing?”

“I’m taking a walk,” I say. “I can’t sleep.”

“You know you’re not supposed to do this.”

“I know.”

I don’t move, though. I am determined.

“You’re not really going for a walk, are you? You’re going to see Allie.”

“Yes,” I answer.

“Noah, you know what happened the last time you saw her at night.”

“I remember.”

“Then you know you shouldn’t be doing this.”

I don’t answer directly. Instead I say, “I miss her.” “I know you do, but I can’t let you see her.”

“It’s our anniversary,” I say. This is true. It is one year before gold. Forty-nine years today.

“I see.”

“Then I can go?”

She looks away for a moment, and her voice changes. Her voice is softer now, and I am surprised. She has never struck me as the sentimental type.

“Noah, I’ve worked here for five years and I worked at another home before that. I’ve seen hundreds of couples struggle with grief and sadness, but I’ve never seen anyone handle it like you do. No one around here, not the doctors, not the nurses, has ever seen anything like it.”

She pauses for just a moment, and strangely, her eyes begin to fill with tears. She wipes them with her finger and goes on:

“I try to think what it’s like for you, how you keep going day after day, but I can’t even imagine it. I don’t know how you do it. You even beat her disease sometimes. Even though the doctors don’t understand it, we nurses do. It’s love, it’s as simple as that. It’s the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.”

A lump has risen in my throat, and I am speechless.

“But Noah, you’re not supposed to do this, and I can’t let you. So go back to your room.” Then, smiling softly and sniffling and shuffling some papers on the desk, she says: “Me, I’m going downstairs for some coffee. I won’t be back to check on you for a while, so don’t do anything foolish.”

She rises quickly, touches my arm, and walks toward the stairs. She doesn’t look back, and suddenly I am alone. I don’t know what to think. I look at where she had been sitting and see her coffee, a full cup, still steaming, and