He silently approached the nightstand on the opposite side of the bed and turned on the lamp. The lamp lit the room in a warm soft light that he hoped wouldn't bother her. He measured out the medication and set it aside. Then he busied himself with emptying the overflowing trash bin and picking up the scattered tissues. When he came back, he had a tray with a glass of water and a bowl of soup.
It wasn't much but he hoped she would find comfort in it as much as he did. He knew sharing this meant sharing a little more of himself with her; not that she would know but he would. And with it would come a new memory he would associate with it. And just maybe something more would come.
