The hospital room was somber. The familiar beeping of the electrocardiogram brought a false sense of hope to the six young girls in the room who were crouched alongside the bed. They could not yet understand goodbyes and forevers but the eldest, who sat beside them, but did not grasp onto her mother's hand. She had her arms about her knees and huddled into herself, trying to somehow grasp herself, to control herself, to maintain some sense of something.
The woman who laid on the bed was beautiful even in the bleak light of the ward. Her beautiful red hair was strewn on the pillow and even with her face gaunt, her eyes shone radiant. Her arms lay over the hospital blanket. One of her hands clasped with her husband's and the other arm grasped by the girls.
Her breath becoming more and more shallow but her eyes were locked with her husband's. He grasped her hand more tightly, afraid of hurting her but unable to let go, unable to bear the idea of letting go.
He kissed the back of her hand, "Please, sweetheart—"
Her eyes shone with tears held back; she brushed back a lock of his long brunet mane and cupped his cheek. "I wish I could," she whispered. "I wish I could."
"Is there anything I can do?" He whispered.
"Play for me, darling." She strained. "I just want to hear you one last time."
He had known this. They had talked about this, before, when all of this was future, when it could all be thrown away as hypothetical, when he could remove himself, he couldn't remove himself now. He couldn't stop this. All he could do was bring her some comfort in her last moments. He lifted the violin that lay beside him and played though his hands trembled.
The titillating song drifted into the hospital lobby outside. The song was deep, remorseful, chillingly sad, the kind of song that left one breathless, and choked up. It floated around the corners of the room, it lifted and dropped and ultimately crashed into another conflicting noise.
An endless note.