The monitor was a flashing red alert.
Arthur had ripped off his blanket and wires, his face contorted with a silent grief. Sarah grabbed him, her voice a steady anchor in the storm.
"You’re not dying tonight."
The room eventually fell into a heavy silence. Arthur lay weak and still.
""This room took everything from me," he whispered. "It took the fifty years we had and turned them into a single, painful night. It made the love feel like a lie because it ended so poorly.""
Sarah took his hand, her eyes meeting his. "A fifty-year story doesn't change because the last page is sad, Arthur. The other forty-nine years were beautiful. Don't let the last page be the only one you read."