House stood looking out the window of his wife's hospital room. It was raining, she loved the rain. He turned and looked at her face, so tender. She was in a coma. He and their child had survived the crash with only a few scratches, she was here.
They didn't expect her to live much longer. What would he do without her? When Stacey had left, it had been bad enough, but if she died, what would he do? How would he raise their child on his own? He limped over to her bedside, and grazed his hand over her face. The mechanical whirring of the respirator rang unpleasantly in his ears.
"Lisa," he whispered.
Nothing. It wasn't as if he had expected anything though. Tears fell down his face. This is what happens when you get in too deep, he told himself, you get hurt worse than before. Her chest rose and fell periodically.
"Lisa," he whispered again, hoping she would answer, but knowing she wouldn't.
He slid his hand down to hers, and grabbed it. Still nothing. The hum of the respirator was the only sound in the room. He brought her hand up, and kissed it lightly.