He knows he’s going to die. They both do. But the thought doesn’t carry much weight anymore.
He stares at her, watching her move efficiently, elegantly among the plastic tubes and the beeping machines. It’s become her second nature.
He closes his eyes, comforted to know that whatever he needs this afternoon, she’s more than capable.
He sighs, realizes sleep won’t be coming soon. His mind wanders.
Will she find love again? He wonders.
A year ago he would’ve selfishly hoped not. But now… after everything she’s done, after everything he’s put her through… he hopes she gets it all.
The Weekday One Hundred 