June, my strong-willed stepmother, lived alone into her nineties—until dementia slowly began to claim her mind. With no children of her own, I became her reluctant caretaker, bound by a promise to my late father to look after "his Junie." After the 2008 recession uprooted my life, I did what I could from afar—until a crisis forced me back into June's world. What followed was a painful, often lonely journey through denial, anger, and unexpected grace. As I helped her transition into assisted living and sorted through her belongings, I discovered a box filled with old letters that opened a window into the woman she was—and the quiet love we had built through years of struggle. This is a story about family not by blood, but by choice, and the healing that can come at the end of a difficult road.