"I love you." Christy finds herself unable to see past the tear, sobbing away in silence. She grabs her husband's hand with all of her might, he tries to squeeze back but doesn't have the strength. For the past three weeks she sat beside his side, holding his hand, talking to him, whipping the sweat from the fevers off his forehead. Sometimes he'd manage to open his eyes, smirk (his fail attempt at a smile) but he never spoke. His doctors and nurses at first fretted around him around the clock. Bumping and interrupting their moments together. Now they barely look over even ignore it when he starts to cough violently.
Christy knows he's dying. He knows it too. She doesn't talk about that or does she think about it. She only talks about the kids and how they both miss their daddy. Of the weather, like the beautiful sunset she was blessed to watch over the horizon the other night. Sometimes she wonders if he can ever hear her, wonders if she's doing anything at all. In her heart she knows yes she is. Doing something for the both of them.
"I love you too David." Finally she is able to respond, his already limp hand falls to the bed and without opening up her eyes she knows he's gone.