I never thought the day Mom forgot my name would be the same day I found out she loved me more than life itself. The doctors called it early-onset dementia. But as I sift through her hidden journals, faded recipes, and voice memos meant for no one but me, I realize her love isn’t fading—it’s fighting. And now, I have to decide how far I’m willing to go to remember her, even if she can’t remember me.