Esme stared at him, her heart giving a quiet tug at the sight. He must have been awake for hours, maybe days, his body finally giving into exhaustion.
She turned her eyes to the ceiling for a moment, drawing in a slow breath, but the action sent a sharp pain down her arm. Wincing, Esme instinctively raised her hand to inspect the discomfort, and there it was—the familiar tug of the IV needle, embedded in her skin, its purpose clear.
She knew this pain well; it had become as routine as breathing. How many times had she been hooked up to these machines, these sterile lines delivering life-saving fluids into her veins?
The beeping of the machines hummed in her ears as she turned her attention back to Ray. He didn't stir.
Exhaustion had claimed him, and it made her heart ache a little more to see him like this—vulnerable, having pushed himself beyond his limits for her. She couldn't even imagine how many nights he had stayed by her side.
