When my wife no longer recognized my face or remembered my name, when she shrank from me as I tried to sponge-bathe her parchment skin, I told her I was the archangel Raphael, descended from heaven to bring comfort. I caressed her hollow cheek with the backs of my fingers. With eyes closed, she thanked Raphael and asked him to do her one favor--could he have God smite the faceless, nameless, good-for-nothing asshole husband who had abandoned her in her hour of need.

I never loved him, she whispered.

My wings wrapped her tight, like human arms, until she slept.