The monitor was a flashing beacon of alarm.
Arthur had ripped off the blanket and the tubes, his face a mask of finality. Sarah rushed in, her grip tight on his shoulders.
"You’re not dying tonight!"
The alarms eventually faded, replaced by the soft ambient hum of the ICU. Arthur lay weak, his tubes restored.
""I'm forgetting the sound of her voice," he whispered, his eyes wet. "The machines are too loud. They’re drowning her out. I have to go where it's quiet, Sarah. So I can hear her one last time.""
Sarah leaned in, her voice a gentle whisper. "She's not in the quiet, Arthur. she's in the way you remember her. Close your eyes. Can you hear her now?"