“Which papers, Frank?”

He didn’t answer.

His hand went loose in mine, his thumb sliding off my wrist as his fingers slowly opened on the white sheet.

His chest didn’t rise again.

The digital monitor by his head sounded three long, low tones and then settled into a flat, steady buzz.

I sat in the quiet room for two whole minutes, holding his cold hand while the rain beat against the glass.

When the night nurse opened the door with her clipboard, I didn’t turn around.