The hospital room is lit only by the sun as it begins to slip beneath the city skyline. A family crowds around the two twin beds, quietly murmuring their love and adoration. There is a silent grief that fills the tiny room as they speak, unshed tears in watery eyes.
The woman in the left bed can only remember her name, and that of her husband's. Her once jet-black hair has faded to a darkened silver, her hands frail and no longer strong. She periodically moves her blue eyes around the room, always seeming to linger most on the man in the bed next to her.
He isn't in any better shape, with his heart and kidneys failing him. Blond hair has turned to an ashy grey, and he's considerably thinner than he was in his younger years. As he looks over at his wife he offers a small, sad smile as a whimper escapes his throat. Gingerly, he lifts his right hand and stretches it out towards her.
Their children seem to understand what he means and without speaking, gently push the two beds together. She reaches out her left hand to meet his, and they intertwine their fingers. Memories flash through both of their minds of superheroes and younger days, when running on the rooftops was common and pain was an afterthought.
They stay like that for thirty minutes, until he slips away into an eternal sleep. She follows him twenty-seven minutes later, still holding his hand.
There's not a dry eye in the room.