Dotage May 2026

“Margaret,” he said, and the word felt like a home he had built with his own two hands.

“There you are,” she said.

It wasn’t difficult. Patience was arguing with a sandwich deliveryman. The front door had a push-bar. Arthur pushed. The air outside was cold and tasted of rain and real things. He walked. His legs were unreliable, two old twigs wrapped in corduroy, but they carried him. Dotage