"Steve," Claire entered the room, a bouquet of flowers in hand as she handed them to his wife who smiled and thanked her for coming and excused herself to fill it with water. "I'm so sorry to hear - "
"It's fine," Steve rasped, smiling as Claire sat at the edge of bed, feeling useless and wondering when the images of Francis dead on the sidewalk would ever end. "I'm sorry to hear about Frank."
Claire looked around at the room which was so sterile and white, the soft tip-tap of nurses in their padded loafers, the beeping of the machine keeping him alive albeit for a short while.