Praying softly to a holy figure she barely believed in, rocking to the beat of a song that always played whenever she got lost gazing into his eyes she held onto the last bit of reality she had that kept her believing in the joy of life. The unending buzz of the heart monitor pierced her ears, screaming at her, reminding her, telling her in a constant buzz that what was once beating and well was now silent and still; but that was of little importance to her. She could only focus on faded memories and the streams of unspoken words that glided down her cheeks onto the clean, rumpled sheets of the small white bed. His hand hung limply in her grasp, slowly losing it’s own warmth and livelihood. She always knew she wouldn't spend her last days with him, that he would be the only one with the satisfaction of knowing her until the end. She didn't want to face that reality, but here it was, slowly tearing her eyes open to the ugly truth.
"I'm sorry," She heard faintly, losing the words into the back of her thoughts quickly in favor of a new storm of emotions flooding her mind.

   She didn't want to respond.
She only nodded, not wanting to seem rude either, and wiped her face clean as she headed outside the humble hospital room to let them prepare him for whatever came next. She didn't even bother to ask where they would take him. As long as he was safe, she didn't care.

  She slowly slumped into a plush chair in the small undecorated waiting room, minding her old bones and aches as she stared at the ground. She didn’t have any motivation to think or move. She only wanted to sit, to process, and to rethink over her life now.  After some time of mourning, contemplating, and mindless humming for a minute or an hour, a small hand disturbed her sulking as it tugged at her Sunday slacks.

"Uhm," murmured an uncertain voice, leaving a small pause afterwards to let her turn her head towards the child. "Are you alright?" Mel scanned the child up and down, taking note of his attire and messy blonde locks. It was unusual, she thought, for a child to be in such mismatched clothing. He seemed old enough to dress himself, but not old enough that an adult wouldn't help him pick his clothes. Wrapped in a bright orange coat accompanied with rumpled dark green shorts he stared at her, waiting.
Not wanting to concern the child she smiled halfheartedly and replied.
"Just a little tired is all."
"Really?"
"Oh, I wouldn't lie to young man like you."
He smiled, showing off his dimples and gave her a light pat on her leg before lifting himself on the plush seat next to hers. She had only now noticed that for his assumed age of 7 he was rather small, dangling his legs off the edge of the seat without being able to touch the ground.
He opened his mouth to talk, then glanced around the room, and began to speak.
"What's your name?" She smiled once more, but with a little more honesty into it.
"My name is Mel, Mel Hable."
She paused in a moment of thought, "What is yours?"
"My name is Stephen, but my Daddy calls me Finn."
"Oh?"
"Yeah, he's over there." He beamed, revealing his small pearly teeth as he pointed proudly to a man in dark coat, clutching a cane closely to his leg.
"I'm here to wait with him."
Mel sat up a bit straighter to get a better look, seeing a pair of dark sunglasses and shaggy brown hair. He looked only a bit over thirty, she noticed, and very similar Stephen. She concluded that he was telling the truth and looked back over to the boy, who was now kicking his legs in the air. "He looks very nice," Mel commented, "What is he here for?"
Stephen shifted in his seat a bit, looking over at his Father. "He can't see, so he needs to come here a lot to get check ups."
Mel hummed understandably, beginning to realize what the cane and glasses were for. She almost felt a bit foolish for asking now, but she was glad that she didn’t see any discomfort in the boy's actions as he only continued to kick his feet.

"What are you here for? Are you tired because you are sick?" Interrupting her thoughts, she took a moment to process his words. "Well,"
She paused.
What would she say? She didn't want him to become sad, nor did she even know if he had been exposed to the grim reality of death yet. He stared expectantly at her, seeming to pick apart her physical appearance to understand more.
"I'm just here for my husband,"
It wasn't an entire lie, but it was a start.
"Oh. Is he sick? Or is he a doctor?"
"He's sick. Well, he was, but he is better now." Her smile was almost as fake as her answer. She then thought for a small moment that perhaps it wasn’t a complete lie, however, but it wasn’t the complete truth either. Drifting to another thought she agreed silently to herself that he was, in fact, all better now. He was free of pain, of counting days and hours, of worrying over how much love he gave to his friends and family. He was free, but she believed she wasn't. But for now she didn't want to think too far ahead about her troubles. She promised herself to save that for later when she was alone in her creaking bed, turning over to the window to pretend he was still lying peacefully next to her, unseen and unheard.
Stephen seemed to nod in an unsaid understanding, then gripped the middle of her fingers, barely able to wrap them all the way around hers. A small silence followed after with an atmosphere of words that needed to be said, but weren't, a feeling of wanting them to be said, but not wanting to speak too soon.

Slowly, after a couple of minutes, he began to speak again making sure to choose his words carefully.
"What was he like?"
Mel allowed herself to chuckle softly as memories filled her mind, the mental notes she kept dearly to herself about him, the things she hated and the things she loved the most formed a list that went off as she sighed softly.
"He was a handsome man inside and out, and not just to me, I'll have you know." He giggled softly, then went silent to let her speak more.
"He loved to dance and tell jokes and sniff old books because they reminded him of his favorite parts of childhood."
"Really?" He giggle some more, slowly stopping his legs to focus more on Mel.
"Yes really; I always told him if he kept on smelling those books, he'd smell off the sent from them."
She paused to chuckle with the boy, then continued.
"He was a good man. Well, I'd always tell him he was more of a child, but out of the both of us he was more mature."
"That's funny,"
She hummed in agreement. "One time, he even woke me up in the middle of the night to tell me a joke he had remembered."
She smiled once more as Stephen burst into giggles.
"He sounds really fun,"
"He was."
"What was your favorite memory with him?"
Mel hummed, thinking the question a little odd, but didn't mind. She opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off.
"Finn, the doctor called us." A gruff, yet soothing voice called as the man on the dark coat stood up. "Coming," Stephen jumped off the chair, then turned to Mel.
"I have to go,"
"That's alright."
"I hope you feel better." He smiled, leaned over her legs to hug her, and ran back to his Father.
Waving to him, she smiled, and stood up.
She did feel a little better, she thought to herself; at least enough to be able to drive herself home. Picking up her beaten up bag she began to walk out of the small room and out of the office building. The crisp Autumn air greeted her outside carrying the scent of wet leaves and watered plants. She took a small moment to feel the wind on her thin worn out face, then buttoned up her cotton coat and made her way to the car.

As she entered her blue Saturn she sat for a while, thinking over the last question the boy had asked. Did she really have an answer? She never really thought about it as she would rather live in the present than look back. She feared if she looked back, she would stay there. Starting the car, she began to hum an old tune as she reran memories through the back of her mind once more. She recalled the times when they would walk around the neighborhood and he would stop in the middle of his tracks to pick up flowers and plants to take home like a little boy who loved beautiful material things more than the memories that came with them. She smiled and stopped at a light, only pausing her train of thought for a moment. She remembered all his favorite desserts she made, the way he would hum in approval and comment on how they should spend their money on making a restaurant. She listed the holidays with him, recalling his big plans of decorations and vacations with family members that never happened.

Making a turn, she smiled to herself softly as she felt her heart speed up with the familiar rush of excitement and joy, then slow back down in the pressure of pain and realization as the thoughts of family gatherings without him would never be the same. Everyone seemed to enjoy his presence, as he was a people pleaser. However, that certainly did not mean he didn't have people snarling at him behind his back. She turned a corner. She remembered hearing rumors and snide remarks made at him before she had met him, all stating that he talked too much or he was only nice to mooch off of others. Quietly shaking her head, she sighed and pushed the those thoughts aside.

As she pulled up to a small house on the corner of a busy street she remembered the day they had bought the house. He had always wanted to live in the city, but she didn't like the idea, favoring the quiet life out in the country. They looked for months, finally finding a small house on the borders of the city. It was far enough from the city to have silent nights, but close enough to to have friends and family come over whenever needed.

She opened the door.
she remembered when they first entered the house he opened his arms and exclaimed,'My dear, I believe we're home.'
Putting her bag up on a small rack next to the door, she looked around the house more. She saw it in a way she had never before, seeing every little detail as if it were her first time again. The way the light floods the living room, highlighting the old furniture and specks of dust that flew in the air free of care. The way the house smelled was even new to her, reminding her of an empty meadow after it has rained lightly. She walked past old bookshelves, reading the titles of some old and new ones. She slid her freckled fingers over small statues of cats and picture frames of their children, leaving small streaks of disturbed dust particles. She smiled fondly at the memories behind them. The pictures of small faces beaming up at the camera, the tiny gifts of statues and trinkets from her favorite Holidays, the stacks of Get Well Soon cards and love letters filled each homemade wooden shelf that hung next to the kitchen door. Each shelf had its own set sentimental items categorized in no particular way to anyone else, but to her it all made sense. Just like the small things her husband would say or the way he sighed made sense in her mind and told her much more than his words ever could.  

Slowly making her way to the bedroom she found the curtains opened, warming up the room to a comfortable temperature.
She remembered the mornings, the nights, the evenings, where they just laid down and talked, sharing thoughts and memories, holding hands and holding bodies. The way the warmth of his breath over her forehead as she turned over on the early mornings to wake her. She would always wake up sooner than him and wait for him to escape his dreams. She loved the way he sang a morning tune and lazily hugged her to get her up, even if they had a fight the night before.

   She sat quietly, smiling sadly to herself as she stroked his side of the bed.
She promised herself silently that she would always save a space for him on the bed, thinking he would appreciate the small gesture if he were to watch over her. She traced the stitched patterns on the brightly colored quilt, recalling the time and effort they put into the making of it. He had pricked his finger multiple times, leaving some small droplets of blood stains behind. Since he had worked on one side of the quilt, they agree that the side with the most blood stains would be his. She chuckled softly as she saw a little smear, recreating in her mind the small whines that he had made throughout the process. Letting her gaze drift over the details of their room she sighed at the realization that each thing from the old lamps to the paintings on the walls held precious memories of their activities and trips around the States. She quickly looked down onto the wild patterns again.

    She began to hum the tune once more, remembering where it was from.
She remembered he had hummed it during their first dance, when they held their oldest child for the first time, after arguments of letting things go to help them both calm down. He hummed the tune during thunderstorms and blackouts, during nights when they had no home or food. She skimmed past those moments in her mind, never wanting to relive that part of their lives. But no matter how hard things got, he would be there, humming a tune of love and reassuring a future of a big house with kids and a dog and warmth. He might have over exaggerated the parts where there would never be troubles or tears, but here she was, past the kids and the dogs and in the house of memories and warmth. They had fulfilled their dream and was now past it to the part of the story that was never told. Not even the happiest fairy tales told this part, and she realized why now. All great stories had their ends, but not every story ended like this. She felt cursed, betrayed by her maker, as if she had a promise that was broken and she was the innocent one. The last pages of her own fairy tale ripped out and spat on, and she could only watch as the paper lay before her, disappearing slowly into the lifeless ground. She’s reached out to the pages and tried to piece them back together time and time again. Nothing seemed work. All she could do was weep over the pages filled with tattered love poems and epic adventures of survival and watch them blow away before her.

  She wept.
She wept and cursed and prayed that her fairy tale with him was not over, that they could spend a little more time talking and laughing and singing in joy. Even to be able to yell at each other over small things when the argument was never about spilling the salt or forgetting to clean, but about how they needed to take responsibility and learn to be quiet and just listen.
He wasn't any good with listening.
That was the only thing keeping him from being a model Prince Charming.
He would be too caught up in the things around him to listen, but she didn’t mind it.
She just enjoyed his company and energetic spirit, but that barely scratched the surface of her love for him.
Even if he wasn’t a Prince from fairy tales, he was still hers to have and hold.
She loved him for all the things he did and didn't do, the things he has said through words and through actions.
And she knew, oh how she knew, that he loved her all the same.
She was his leather back, wrinkled paged, ink-stained fairy tale Princess straight from the books he loved so dearly.

Her tears began to dry slowly from her wrinkled face and loose skinned neck, only able to let smaller beads of salty water stick to the bags under her eyes. She didn’t want to cry anymore, but the feeling was still there. She had cried out all of her energy, but she felt there was more to be thought.
Yes, she felt that maybe she shouldn’t be too upset over this in a way. That maybe, just maybe, her wishes to live with him again will be answered.
All she had to do was wait.
To wait and pray and believe that she has another chance to be with him was what she needed to do.
Pressing her back onto the plush quilt on the bed she closed her eyes.

The waiting part, she believed, would be difficult; but she didn’t want to end her part of the story sooner than it needed to. She would have to keep turning the pages day by day and night by night.
Relaxing her limbs she ran this thought over and over again in the back of her mind.
The next time she would meet him again it would be forever.