He sat bedside watching her chest rise slowly then fall thanks to a wall of beeping and buzzing machines behind them. The marvels of modern medicine.
It had been like this for months and everyone told him it wasn’t getting better. One glance at her pale, gaunt face and he couldn’t disagree.
He reached over, interlocked his hand with hers. A good run. Eighty-two years, sixty-four at each other’s side.
Now, they were just killing time.
He set the empty pill bottle on his wife’s nightstand. Hospital staff were withdrawing support early tomorrow morning.
At least she wasn’t going alone.
The Weekday One Hundred 