• He wasn't quite sure how long he had been sitting there, gazing into the stark white walls of his wife's hospital room. There was no clock nearby, and he had idiotically forgotten his watch at home. But then, it was her fault too, wasn't it? She had told him to go home.

    Her exact words were: "Go home and get some sleep. You look more sickly than me."

    She was smiling then, obviously amused at his expense.

    He hadn't wanted to go home. He had wanted to stay there with her.

    "I'm not going anywhere." she had assured him gently, never losing the smile he had fallen in love with. "Go home and rest, alright? I'll see you tomorrow."

    But she wasn't here now, not for hours. And she wasn't wearing the smile he'd fallen in love with.

    His fists were lying uselessly on his lap. His emotions were jumbled and he couldn't tell them apart. When he looked at the mirror, all he saw was this dazed expression on his face.

    He was confused, ridden with denial and regret-- so much so that he didn't know what to do with it all.

    What was he supposed to do?

    He couldn't move from his spot beside her bed, couldn't stand up from the distinctly uncomfortable chair he was sitting on.

    His gaze shifted onto the bed, at the empty white sheets so much like the walls he had been staring at prior.

    She wasn't there.

    She wouldn't be there, not anymore.

    "No, no. She'll be back. She said she'd be back." a voice in his mind insisted. There was a hint of hysteria in its tone.

    His dry lips parted mouthing a word that he couldn't voice out: "Why?"

    He didn't understand what was happening.

    What was-- is-- happening?

    "Sir, we have a new patient coming in." a soft feminine voice interrupted his musings. "We're short of rooms," there was a pause, "We're sorry."

    He wondered if she was sorry that he needed to be kicked out, or sorry that his wife was gone, or both. He also wondered if she realized that she was speaking in plural form 'we' instead of singular 'I' since she was alone. But then, he mused, she was speaking for the hospital, so she had to use the plural form. His lips cracked at an attempt to smile as he thought of his wife who'd probably berate him for thinking about such a thing at a time like this.

    "That's what I get for marrying an English teacher." she'd exclaim with a sigh, her auburn head shaking at the same time shooting him an affectionate smile.

    "I was here a few hours ago." his voice was rough from lack of use, it felt like someone had rubbed sandpaper down his throat and left it there because he felt something clogging. "I was here, with her."

    The woman stared at him, and he felt bad for telling all these things to a stranger who probably really needed the room he was stubbornly occupying and spilling his guts in.

    "Barely two days ago, I was with her too. I took her here." the clogging in his throat worsened, and he barely had enough room to breath. His nose was clogging too. Was he becoming sick? "I was here, with her."

    "We're sorry." the woman said, even though he knew it wasn't her fault. He felt bad for forcing her to apologize for something she had no control over. But, she could also be apologizing for using the plural form 'we' instead of the singular form 'I'.

    He laughed brokenly, if there was such a way to laugh, "A few hours ago, I was sitting here with her." he forged on, even though his eyesight was going blurry. "And then she told me to g-go home." he was starting to stutter, and now he felt really guilty for inflicting his speech on her. "And I-I went, because I thought s-she'd be h-here."

    He took in a shuddering breath, trying to breath through all the clogging, "And now she isn't." he murmured thoughtfully. "H-How is that? I was h-here with her. How come she isn't here anymore?"

    The woman was silent, and he thought that he was probably pushing her patience.

    He reached for the white blob beside him-- he could barely see now-- letting his hand stay here as if to reinforce what he was saying. "How come..?" he asked again, softly now, staring into the white mesh in front of him.

    Either because the woman didn't have an answer, or didn't have the patience to wait for him to leave, she simply said: "I'll go look for another room."

    Either way, it didn't matter, because he had shortly burst into tears afterward.

    "How?" he shouted in hysteria and sheer desperation, burying his tear streaked face into the cool blankets where she had been mere hours ago.

    How could life fall apart so fast?