Jack looked at Claire's hand clasped in his because he couldn't bear to look at her face. Despite the bruises, she could be sleeping.
Her hand is still warm, he thought, puzzled.
"Jack," Liz Rodgers said behind him.
Drowning in medicalese, he'd made a desperate phone call, and Dr Rodgers came. He should be grateful.
He knew what Rodgers was going to say. Gratitude was impossible.
"It's time," Rodgers said.
But her hand is still warm.
He leaned forward. Despite everything, the faint trace of her perfume still clung to her skin.
For the last time, he kissed her lips.
