The Final Goodbye
The hospital ward was cloaked in silence, broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the machines and the soft glow of a night lamp casting gentle shadows across the room. For nearly three months, Emily had lain motionless in a coma. Her husband, Michael, had never left her side. Every day, he sat by her bed, holding her hand, whispering words of love, and refusing to give up hope. To the doctors and nurses, he was the picture of devotion — a man whose love had endured the impossible.
But this day was different. The doctors finally delivered the words Michael had been dreading. They told him there was no hope left — Emily’s body was failing, and it was time to let her go. The air left his lungs as if the world itself had collapsed. He broke down, his sobs echoing softly against the sterile walls.
“Please,” he begged, his voice cracking, “just give me a little more time.”
Moved by his desperation, the doctors agreed. When they left, Michael remained alone beside Emily. He took her cold hand in his, tracing the familiar lines of her palm as tears fell freely. The thought of a future without her seemed unbearable. Leaning close, he pressed a trembling kiss to her forehead, lingering there as if to say everything words could not.
Then, with a deep breath, he whispered something — not a goodbye, not words of love… but something no one expected.