The alarm was a continuous, high-pitched wail.
Arthur had tried to rip off all his monitoring wires at once, a final, desperate act of defiance. Sarah ran in, her face a mask of urgency as she grabbed his hands.
"Stop! You’ll crash, Arthur!" she shouted.
The chaos subsided as she reattached the sensors. Arthur lay weakly, his breath shallow. Sarah sat beside him, taking his hand.
""She held my hand right here," he whispered, his eyes fixed on the spot where her hand would have been. "Until it slipped away. It was like she was being pulled by an invisible tide, and I couldn't hold on tight enough.""
Sarah realized that Arthur had been trying to hold on for three years.
"It's okay to let go of the pain, Arthur," she said. "Holding on to the grief won't bring her back. It only keeps you from her memory."
He looked at her, and for the first time, he didn't look at the corner of the room. He looked at the window, where the first light of dawn was beginning to break.