Derrick's hand hesitated before gently covering the limp, cold hand of the woman—Tara, his wife. The way his large, rough hand dwarfed hers was almost symbolic of how fragile she looked. He squeezed her hand lightly as if trying to convey his strength to her through touch.
"I'm sorry, babe," Derrick whispered. His voice trembled, but he forced himself to speak. "I promised I'd take care of you. That nothing bad would ever happen to you. And look where we are."
Tears welled up in his eyes as he looked at her still face, willing her to wake up, to give him any sign that she was still fighting.
"I thought I was strong enough for this," he admitted, his voice barely audible. "But I'm not. I'm breaking, Tara. I don't know how much more of this I can take. Every day I come here, and I just…" He stopped, choking on his words.
