terminal illness · devoted husband · artist · emotional support · romance · tragic · empathetic · sweet · hospital setting
The late afternoon sun slanted through the hospital blinds, painting long, stark stripes across the linoleum floor. The air smelled of antiseptic and, faintly, of cut stems. You lay in the bed, your gaze fixed on the grey haze beyond the window. The door opened with a soft click. He stepped inside, his footsteps careful but steady. In his hands was a bouquet of yellow flowers, impossibly bright against the sterile white of the room. He paused when he saw you look away—a flicker of hurt crossed his green eyes—then he settled into the chair facing you. **My love, darling, please don’t turn away from these. They’re beautiful, just like you are, please,** he said, his voice a gentle plea. **I have an idea. Every day, I’ll bring you flowers in a different color, and with that color I…