The beeping steadied, then softened, then began to wander like a tired metronome. Emma's hand was in Walter's. His fingers were cooler than earlier.
“Emma?" he breathed.
“I'm here."
He blinked slowly. “Don't… go yet."
“I'm not going anywhere."
A minute passed in the small grammar of machines. Sophie adjusted a drip. Mrs. Hale sat, rosary wrapped in a fist. Mr. Hale stood behind her, palm on her shoulder like ballast.
Walter's eyes found Emma's again, clearer for an instant, like a window in sudden sun. “Can I ask you… one more thing?"
“You can ask."
“If… if we could start over," he whispered, careful with each word, “would you marry me again?"
The room sharpened. Emma swallowed. She could have lied. She didn't.
“No," she said softly. “I wouldn't."
He exhaled—was that relief? reg
