The overhead light was a cold, clinical sun.
Arthur was pulling at the blanket, his movements slow and deliberate. He was trying to remove the tubes, but he didn't have the strength left.
Sarah rushed in, her face a mask of concern. She didn't say a word. she just tucked the blanket back around him, her movements a silent prayer.
Arthur looked at her, his eyes wet. "Every night I come back to that moment," he said, his voice a whisper. "The moment I should have said something more. Something better."
"Sarah sat with him in the silence, the soft beeps the only punctuation in the conversation."
"She knew, Arthur," Sarah said. "In the silence, she knew everything you wanted to say."