She watched as the last leaf fell. Its descent to earth was slow and hard； every time it got close to the ground a gust of wind would lift it up to a new height. Minutes passed and still it didn’t touch down.
　　She’d watched them all fall， every last one of them. But this was too painful. It took too long to fall. She had to look away. The others， all 896 of them， had made it from tree to dirt within a minute. This one was the last survivor， the last of its kind， and it took too long.
　　Every day since autumn had begun， she had watched intently. From the moment the sun came up she would be there， at the window， staring at the old oak. She’d seen children playing in the leaves， kicking them up in the air， running through them at speed， sliding on them when it had rained the night before.
　　She’d seen it all.
　　Except that last leaf.
　　It had been too much to bear； she hadn’t been able to cope as it had finally made its brave descent. As soon as it had detached itself from its life-giver she had given up on pretence. That one time， she allowed a tear to fall.
　　The nurses had thought she wasn’t all there. That she hadn’t noticed him going at all.
　　She had， they just hadn’t made the connection. Every time a leaf fell she thought of him， remembered his smile or the warmth of his touch. She had wished for there to be more leaves on that old oak so she would never have to stop remembering him. As long as she could think of him， he was still there in her mind.
　　When the last leaf fell she had given up hope. A month and three days she had watched and waited as the leaves fell.
　　34 days she had lasted without him.
　　34 days and 896 leaves.
　　It wasn’t enough， but it was all she could bear.