The old man sits in his favorite armchair, staring out the window, trying to remember why the view feels familiar. A gentle autumn breeze sways the trees, but the memories slip away like leaves drifting down. His daughter, Lina, stands by the door, clutching her keys. Her eyes are tired, and there’s a hint of sadness she tries to hide. She knows what she must do, but it feels like a betrayal. “Dad, we need to talk,” she says softly, her voice wavering. The old man turns, eyes clouded, trying to place her face. For a moment, he remembers: the little girl who used to hold his hand, the laughter they shared. But the memory fades, and he’s left with only a faint echo. “I don’t want to go,” he whispers, even though he’s not sure where. Lina's heart aches. She kneels beside him, taking his hands in hers. “I’m sorry, Dad. I wish there was another way.” She doesn’t say the words she fears: *I can’t do this anymore. I’m losing you.* As she gently leads him to the car, he catches a glimpse of a family photo on the shelf. He smiles, but he can’t remember why. And Lina wonders if he’ll remember anything at all when she drives away.