OLIVIA'S POV
The room was dimly lit with soft fluorescent lights humming overhead. The air was thick with the scent of antiseptics and the faint tang of medication. The beeping of life-support machines and the gentle whoosh of oxygen tanks created a constant, soothing background hum.
I sat in a worn, vinyl armchair beside the bed, watching Mrs. Claire's still form with a mix of sadness and concern. The soft beeping of the machines and the gentle hiss of the oxygen tank created a strange, hypnotic rhythm that seemed to lull the world outside into a distant, fading hum.
I placed my hand on hers, then I spoke, “Get well soon, Mrs. Claire, Mark missed you, we all missed you," I prayed, my voice soft yet firm.
Mrs. Claire lay motionless in her bed, surrounded by a tangle of wires and tubes.
