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The night pressed heavy on the farmhouse. Rain slanted against the windows, slicking the glass in streaks that caught the light from the lanterns scattered through the room. Lorraine sat rigid on the worn sofa, her gaze fixed not on the family huddled in the corner, but on Ed.
He stood with his shoulders squared, voice steady as he reassured the mother and father that the worst had passed, that the darkness which had plagued them was gone. To anyone else, he looked strong, unshaken. But Lorraine knew better.
She saw the faint tremor in his hand as he lowered the crucifix. She saw the pallor beneath his ruddy cheeks, the sheen of sweat that clung to his temples despite the cool draft seeping in through the broken window.
And she had seen, earlier, the way his hand had pressed fleetingly against his chest when he thought no one was watching.
“Ed,” she said softly when he turned to gather their things. Her voice carried only to him. “You need to sit down. Just for a moment.”
He gave her a half-smile, that weary, reassuring one he always offered when he wanted to spare her worry. “I’m fine, Hon.”
Her lips pressed tight. “You’re not fine. I saw you.”
The family murmured behind them, voices low and grateful, oblivious to the silent battle unraveling between husband and wife.
Ed bent closer to her, lowering his voice. “They needed us tonight. You saw that girl—she couldn’t even step into her own bedroom. We couldn’t walk away.”
“You can’t keep pouring yourself out until there’s nothing left,” she whispered back, her fingers brushing the sleeve of his coat. “Don’t you understand what that does to me? Watching you burn yourself alive to save everyone else?”
His hand covered hers, warm, callused. “It’s who I am, Lorraine. It’s who we are.”
Her throat ached. She wanted to scream, to beg him to stop, to force him into the car and drive far from this cursed town, far from every shadow that threatened to swallow them whole. But instead, she swallowed her fear, because the family was watching, and because Ed’s grip on her hand was both anchor and chain.
When at last they stepped out into the rain, Lorraine caught the stumble in his step. It was so slight, a hitch of movement he tried to mask with a brisk tug of her arm.
But she felt it.
She always felt it.
The storm roared around them as they walked to the Cadillac, but all Lorraine could hear was the hammering of her own heart, frantic and unrelenting.
Something was coming.
The ride home was quiet. Too quiet. Rain still streaked the windshield, the wipers fighting to keep pace. Lorraine sat turned slightly toward Ed, her fingers folded in her lap, watching him.
He had one hand tight on the wheel, the other resting against the edge of his thigh. To anyone else, he might’ve looked tired, worn down by the case. But Lorraine caught every subtle detail—the way his jaw clenched against some unspoken discomfort, how his breaths came a little shallower than they should.
“Ed,” she said softly.
He glanced over at her, eyes shadowed but warm, as though he could trick her into believing everything was fine. “Hmm?”
“Talk to me.”
“I am talking,” he teased lightly, though his voice carried a strain, a roughness that cracked in the middle. “I’m just… tired. That’s all.”
Her hand drifted across the space between them, resting gently on his forearm. His skin was clammy. “Promise me, Ed.”
His lips quirked faintly, but he didn’t answer. And that silence was worse than anything.
By the time they pulled into the driveway, the storm had calmed into a drizzle. The world outside was hushed, softened, as though holding its breath. Lorraine carried the case files inside, the weight of them digging into her arm, but when she turned back, Ed hadn’t moved from the driver’s seat.
Her heart skipped.
“Ed?” she called, stepping closer.
He opened the door, forcing a smile. “Just needed a minute.” But the moment his feet hit the gravel, his body betrayed him. He staggered forward, one hand flying to his chest.
The files slid from Lorraine’s arms, scattering across the ground. Her breath left her in a ragged cry. “Ed!”
She was under his arm in an instant, her smaller frame straining to support him. His weight sagged heavy against her as he gasped, his face ashen, sweat slicking his temples.
“Call—call an ambulance,” he rasped, his fingers clutching at her sleeve.
“No,” she said fiercely, as though she could bend reality by refusing it. “No, you hold on. Stay with me.”
She half-dragged, half-carried him into the house, lowering him onto the couch. His breaths were shallow, erratic, his chest rising in uneven jolts. His eyes squeezed shut, teeth gritted against the pain radiating through him.
Her trembling hands fumbled for the phone, dialing with desperate precision. “Please,” she begged the operator, voice breaking. “Please hurry, it’s my husband, he—he can’t breathe, he’s clutching his chest, he’s having another heart attack. Ple—”
The minutes before the sirens arrived stretched into an eternity. Lorraine knelt by Ed, both hands gripping his, her tears falling unchecked onto his knuckles.
“Stay with me, Ed,” she whispered over and over, as if repetition could anchor him. “You promised me—you promised we’d grow old, remember? You promised you’d never leave me.”
His lips parted, his voice barely audible. “Lorraine…”
That single breath of her name nearly split her in two.
The wail of sirens cut through the night, and suddenly their home filled with strangers—paramedics with practiced urgency. They eased her aside, voices sharp, commands flying: “BP dropping—oxygen—move, ma’am, give us room—”
Lorraine stumbled back, her hands clutching at her chest as though she could hold her breaking heart together. She hovered uselessly as they loaded Ed onto the stretcher, his hand slipping from hers. The absence of his grip was like ice water through her veins.
She followed them out into the night, rain soaking her hair, her clothes, her skin. She climbed into the ambulance, ignoring the protests, her knees pressed against the gurney as she clung to Ed’s arm.
The ride blurred—sirens howling, lights flashing, the paramedic’s clipped voice calling numbers that meant nothing to her. All Lorraine could do was hold on, whispering prayers into the storm, begging God to hear her.
When Ed’s eyes fluttered half-open, glazed with pain, she bent low, her tears falling onto his cheek. “I’m right here, Ed. Don’t you dare leave me. Not like this.”
He squeezed her hand faintly. A promise, or a goodbye—she couldn’t tell.
And then the monitors screamed.
The hospital smelled of antiseptic and rain-soaked earth dragged in from the storm. The corridors stretched endlessly, fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, and Lorraine felt as though she were walking through a dream—or a nightmare she could not wake from.
Her hands were clasped tightly around Ed’s wedding band, the metal biting into her skin, as though holding onto that ring could tether him here.
The gurney carrying Ed had been rushed past her, swallowed by a sea of nurses and doctors barking urgent commands. Lorraine had tried to follow, but a firm arm barred her way. “Please, ma’am, we’ll come for you as soon as he’s stable.” Stable. The word struck like a cruel joke.
She sat in the waiting room, her whole body taut, her foot bouncing against the tile, until finally, finally, a nurse came for her.
“He’s in recovery. You can see him now, but only for a few minutes.”
She rose without a word, her legs barely carrying her.
The room was dim, machines humming steadily like a cruel symphony. Ed lay pale against the sheets, wires and tubes attached to his body, each one a reminder of how fragile he suddenly seemed. His chest rose and fell, shallow but steady. His lips, always quick to curve into a grin, were now bloodless, parted slightly as if even the effort of breathing was too much.
Lorraine’s breath shuddered out of her. She moved toward the bed on instinct, her knees nearly buckling as she reached his side. She took his hand—the same hand she’d held through decades of storms, battles, victories, and losses—and pressed it to her cheek.
“Ed,” she whispered, the name catching in her throat. “Oh, my love…”
His eyes fluttered faintly, lids heavy. He turned toward her, as if even in his haze he could feel her there.
“Lorraine,” he rasped, barely audible, but the sound of it nearly undid her.
“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” She leaned forward, resting her upper body across the bed, her head close to his, as though she could keep him grounded by sheer proximity.
For a moment, silence filled the room—broken only by the steady beeping of the heart monitor, its rhythm anchoring her to hope.
She smoothed her thumb over his knuckles, remembering how those same fingers had once traced circles on her back during sleepless nights, how they had held their daughter’s tiny hand, how they had pointed across pages of case files with certainty that calmed every storm.
“Do you remember,” she whispered, voice trembling, “that summer when we first moved into the house on Franklin Street? The garden was a mess, weeds taller than Judy. But you—you swore we’d fix it. And every weekend you dragged me out there in the sun until it bloomed again. I thought you were mad.” She gave a soft, broken laugh. “But you did it. You always did. You’ve never let me down, Ed. Not once.”
The beeping quickened suddenly, a sharp reminder that the line between memory and present was paper-thin. Lorraine sat up straighter, panic in her chest.
A nurse came in, checked the monitors, adjusted the IV. Lorraine clung to Ed’s hand tighter, terrified they might ask her to leave again.
“Please,” she begged softly, her voice carrying the weight of everything she could not say aloud. “Please don’t take him from me.”
When the nurse left, she returned her gaze to Ed. His eyes opened slightly again, focusing on her through the haze. He gave her the faintest smile—weak, strained, but his.
“You’re… still here,” he murmured.
“Of course I am.” She leaned down, pressing her lips to his forehead, lingering there as if to imprint her love directly into his skin. “Where else would I ever be?”
Tears spilled freely now, soaking into the sheets beneath her cheek as she rested her head against the bed, her body curled toward his. She whispered prayers, bargains, every plea her heart could muster into the space between them.
But beneath it all, beneath the whispered words and silent begging, was one unbearable truth: she could feel him slipping. Every shallow breath, every falter of the machines, every long pause between his murmurs screamed of a tide pulling him away from her.
And Lorraine Warren, who had faced horrors beyond mortal imagining, who had stood against shadows and devils, found herself utterly powerless before the quiet terror of losing the man she loved.
The world outside the hospital window blurred into grey. Rain tapped against the glass like impatient fingers, but Lorraine heard none of it. All that existed was the narrow hospital bed, the steady beep of the monitor, and the fragile hand she cradled in both of hers.
Ed’s skin was cool, his pulse weak beneath her thumb, but the warmth was still there—faint, but alive. That was all she needed.
She bent over him again, pressing her lips to the back of his hand. “I thought you promised me,” she whispered, voice trembling against his skin. “You promised you’d stay with me through everything.”
Ed stirred, his eyes cracking open, glazed but searching. He looked at her like he always did—like she was the only thing worth seeing in any room, no matter the circumstance. His lips twitched faintly, and his voice rasped, broken but still tender.
“Still here, aren’t I?”
Her laugh was wet with tears. “Barely,” she scolded softly, though her fingers smoothed his hair back from his damp forehead with infinite care. “You can’t leave me guessing like this. Not after everything we’ve been through.”
“Don’t… cry, sweetheart.” His chest heaved with the effort of speaking. “If you cry, I’ll have to get up and fix it. And I don’t think the doctors would like that.”
The joke was feeble, but it hit her like a knife. Her breath hitched, and she pressed her forehead to his temple, her voice breaking. “Don’t make light of this. Not now, Ed. Please.”
His fingers twitched in hers, the faintest squeeze. “I don’t want you scared.”
“Well, I am,” she admitted, fierce in her quiet. “I’m terrified. I don’t care what horrors we’ve faced, none of them—none—compare to this.” Her tears slid onto his pillow, disappearing into the white fabric. “Demons I can fight. This?” She lifted their entwined hands, shaking. “This I can’t do without you.”
His chest shuddered with a labored breath. His thumb traced the back of her hand with what strength he could muster, a fragile imitation of the way he’d always soothed her.
“You’ll always have me,” he whispered. His eyes locked onto hers, fever-bright, stubborn even in weakness. “One way or another.”
“Don’t you dare speak like that,” she snapped, clutching him tighter as panic swelled. “Not in past tense. Not like you’ve already decided.”
He gave her a look then—soft, weary, unbearably loving. “I’ve never decided anything without you, Lorraine.”
Her lip trembled, and she bent down, kissing his lips tenderly, careful of the oxygen mask and the dryness of his mouth. It was a fleeting kiss, but it carried the weight of decades, of every unspoken vow.
When she pulled back, she cupped his face, desperate to keep him anchored. “Then promise me,” she whispered. “Promise me you’ll fight. That you’ll hold on. For me. For Judy.”
Ed closed his eyes briefly, as if the very act of keeping them open had become too much. His breath rattled, uneven. Then, with effort, he opened them again, forcing his gaze to hers.
“I’ll fight,” he rasped. “Always. For you.”
The monitor beeped steadily beside them, but Lorraine felt every second like a countdown, every pause between heartbeats like a dagger pressed closer to her chest.
She laid her head down on the edge of the mattress, still holding his hand against her cheek, her voice soft but trembling with ferocity. “Don’t you ever forget—you are my heart, Ed Warren. If you go, you take me with you.”
His lips curved faintly, barely there, but it was enough. “Then I guess I don’t get to go anywhere,” he murmured, before his eyes drifted closed once more.
Lorraine stayed like that, unmoving, listening to every fragile rise and fall of his chest, whispering broken prayers into the quiet.
The night stretched long, and the storm outside deepened, but she did not leave his side. She could not. Because every moment away from him now felt like an eternity she could not bear.
The hours bled together, marked only by the soft cadence of the heart monitor and the rain outside that never seemed to end. Lorraine had lost all sense of time. She only knew the pattern of his breaths, the warmth—or lack thereof—of his hand in hers, the frail pulse that answered beneath her fingertips when she checked for the thousandth time.
She whispered to him constantly, small things, anything to keep him tethered. Memories spilled out between tears: the first house they blessed together, Judy’s first word, the summer night he had carried her across their threshold after a case left her too weak to walk. Her voice cracked, but she forced a smile as she told them.
“You remember that, don’t you?” she murmured, brushing her thumb along his knuckles. “You looked at me like I was your whole world. And nothing’s changed, Ed. Nothing ever has.”
He stirred faintly, a flicker of his brow, but his eyes didn’t open. Still, she leaned closer, taking that tiny movement as proof. “That’s right,” she whispered fiercely. “Stay with me. You don’t get to let go yet. Not while I’m still here holding on.”
The room seemed too big around them, too sterile, every shadow thick with threat. Lorraine pressed her head to the mattress, cheek against the rough hospital sheet, his hand cradled to her face. She inhaled slowly, breathing him in—soap and antiseptic and the faint lingering cologne that still clung to his shirt.
The monitor kept its steady beat: beep… beep… beep. A fragile anchor in a sea that wanted to swallow her whole.
But then—something shifted. Subtle at first.
Lorraine’s head jerked up, her blood freezing as she realized it wasn’t steady anymore. The intervals stretched, irregular, like a pianist stumbling over keys.
Beep……beep…beep…………beep.
Her eyes shot to Ed’s chest. It was still rising, but slower, shallower, each breath dragged like it weighed too much for him to lift.
“No,” she whispered, her hand clutching his tighter, panic searing through her veins. “No, no, no, don’t you dare.”
Her other hand pressed to his chest as if sheer force could keep the rhythm alive. Tears blurred her vision, spilling unchecked. “Ed, please. Please, listen to me. You promised me you’d fight. You said you would!”
His lips parted, a faint rattle escaping, and Lorraine leaned down, desperate, trying to catch the whisper of a word—anything. But nothing came. Only silence between the faltering beeps.
Her body shook with terror, her voice rising, raw. “I can’t do this without you! You hear me? I can’t! So you don’t get to leave. Not like this. Not now.”
The machine’s tone wavered again—another long pause, so long she thought her heart had stopped with his—before a single weak beep finally came.
Lorraine gasped with it, clinging harder to his hand, sobbing openly now. “Please, Ed. Please stay. Don’t you dare leave me in this world alone.”
The door burst open behind her. Nurses rushed in, their shoes squeaking against the tile. Lorraine barely registered the movement, still bent over her husband, as if sheer willpower might hold him here with her.
“Ma’am, step aside—” a nurse began.
“No!” Lorraine cried, shielding him with her body. “I’m not leaving him. I can’t.”
“Mrs. Warren, please—we need to—”
And then the monitor screamed into one long, merciless tone.
BEEEEEEEEEEP.
The sound hollowed her out instantly, her body convulsing with the cry that ripped from her throat. Her nails dug into Ed’s skin, her tears falling hot and relentless onto his chest.
“Ed! No, no, no, come back to me!”
The medical staff pulled her gently, firmly back as they rushed into position, calling codes, shoving the crash cart closer. She clawed against their hands, but the world blurred—the only thing sharp, deafening, was the flatline that split her in two.
Her knees buckled, and still she screamed his name.
The world shattered into movement.
“Code Blue! Room 214!” a voice barked, sharp and commanding, the words echoing down the corridor as more footsteps thundered closer.
The heart monitor screamed its endless, merciless tone—one single line that felt like it was cleaving Lorraine’s chest in two.
“No!” Lorraine cried, her hands pressed desperately against Ed’s chest as though her touch could anchor him. “Ed, please, come back—don’t do this to me!”
Strong arms slid around her shoulders, tugging her back. “Ma’am, you need to step aside.”
She thrashed against them, eyes wild, hair falling in tangled strands around her face. “I won’t leave him! I can’t!”
“Mrs. Warren, we have to start compressions now—please—”
The words blurred together. Her body resisted, every muscle straining, but she was no match for the nurse pulling her back from the bed. Another nurse leapt in, climbing onto a stool, beginning chest compressions in a steady, brutal rhythm.
Lorraine’s nails clawed uselessly at the air, her voice breaking into sobs. “Don’t touch him like that—he’s not—he’s not gone—he can’t be gone—”
The crash cart slammed against the wall as it was wheeled in, drawers yanked open, sterile packages torn apart.
“Charge to 200—clear!”
The defibrillator paddles pressed to his chest. Lorraine’s scream tore through the room as his body jerked violently under the current.
“Still nothing!”
“Again! Clear!”
Another jolt. His body lifted off the bed, then crashed back, limp.
Lorraine’s legs buckled. She fell forward, caught only by the nurse still restraining her. Her voice was hoarse now, shredded. “Ed—please, please—” She pressed her palms to her mouth as sobs shook through her, her entire frame trembling violently.
The doctor’s voice cut through the chaos. “Push one of epi! Get another line in!”
Hands moved fast, practiced, but to Lorraine it all looked like violence. Wires, needles, shocks—her husband’s body was treated like a thing, not the man who had kissed her that morning, who had promised her he’d always be here.
Her hands slapped at the nurse restraining her. “He hates needles—he hates it—don’t—don’t do this—” Her voice dissolved into a broken whisper. “Please, just let me hold him. Please.”
The monitor wailed on.
Flat.
Flat.
Every second dragged like an eternity, each “clear!” ripping another sob from her throat as his body convulsed with the shocks.
A younger nurse crouched by Lorraine’s side, trying to soften her voice. “Mrs. Warren… you have to let them try. Please, sit down—”
Lorraine’s head snapped to her, eyes bloodshot, wild. “Try? He’s my husband! They’re not trying—they’re tearing him away from me!”
She lunged again, only to be caught. This time she sagged in their grip, her strength spent. Tears streamed endlessly as her voice cracked. “Ed… please. Please don’t leave me.”
The compressions kept going. The shocks. The orders. The endless chaos.
And the sound—God, the sound—the flatline that never wavered, never broke, no matter how much she prayed, no matter how hard they forced his chest to rise.
Finally, she sank against the nurse holding her, forehead pressed to their arm, sobbing as though her ribs might crack under the weight of it.
The doctor’s voice came again, steady, hard: “Another round. Don’t stop compressions.”
But Lorraine could already feel it—the truth clawing at her chest, heavy and merciless. That he was slipping. That he was already too far.
And that nothing in this room, not machines, not medicine, not even her own desperate love, could stop it.
“Clear!”
Ed’s body jolted again, his chest arching up off the mattress before crashing back down. The monitor wailed on, one single merciless line across the screen.
“Still flat!”
“Charge again.”
The team moved with grim determination, voices overlapping, commands sharp. Hands pressed down on Ed’s sternum in relentless rhythm, each compression making Lorraine flinch as though she could feel it in her own bones.
“Don’t stop!” she screamed, surging forward again, nearly tearing herself from the nurse’s grip. Her throat was raw, her body trembling violently. “He’s strong, I know him—he always comes back—don’t you dare stop!”
Her words cracked into sobs, but she forced them out anyway, as if sheer insistence could drag him back. “Edward Warren, do you hear me? You promised me you wouldn’t leave—I’m not letting you break that promise!”
“Epinephrine in.”
“Charge to 300—clear!”
Another shock. His body twitched lifelessly. The sound didn’t change.
Lorraine’s chest heaved as though she were drowning. Her fingernails dug into her palms, leaving crescents of blood. It’s not possible. Not Ed. Not her Ed.
The doctor’s voice came low this time, heavy with something unspoken. “How long?”
“Twenty-six minutes.”
The words were a knife. Lorraine’s head snapped up, eyes wild. “No. No—you keep going. You keep going!”
The doctor glanced toward her, face shadowed with pity. “Mrs. Warren—”
“No!” she shrieked, the sound animal, torn from her very core. “You don’t get to stop—don’t you dare stop! He’s not done—he’s not gone—he’s not—”
But the compressions slowed. The hands at Ed’s chest faltered, withdrawing. Someone began peeling off gloves, discarding them into the bin with hollow snaps. The monitor still sang its single note of finality.
Lorraine lunged forward, breaking free at last, throwing herself across Ed’s body. Her arms locked tight around him, cheek pressed against his sweat-damp shirt. “Don’t touch him—don’t you touch him!”
The staff stilled. Some looked away. One nurse reached gently for her shoulder, but she slapped the hand back, her sobs tearing through the sterile air.
“Time of death, 2:47 a.m.,” the doctor said quietly, voice flat, final.
The pen scratched across the chart. A line drawn through her world.
“No,” Lorraine whispered, rocking against Ed’s chest, her tears soaking through the fabric. Her hands clutched at him desperately, as though if she held tight enough she could anchor him here. “No, you don’t leave me. You don’t. You can’t.”
Her lips brushed against his cold temple, her breath shuddering. “What about me, Ed. You hear me? I thought you’d never leave me. You don’t get to go where I can’t follow.”
The room emptied slowly, the crash cart rolled out, footsteps fading down the hall. Pity lingered in their silence, but no one tried to pry her away again.
And then it was just Lorraine and the body of her husband.
The beeping was gone now, monitor shut off. The air felt too quiet, as if the universe itself had drawn a breath and refused to exhale.
Lorraine pressed her forehead to Ed’s and let her grief come in waves so violent she thought she might break apart beneath them. “I can’t do this without you. I don’t know how to breathe without you.”
But no answer came.
No warmth stirred beneath her cheek.
And the silence was worse than any scream.
The world had stilled, though Lorraine couldn’t say how long it had been since the room emptied. Time was no longer something she could measure. The fluorescent lights still buzzed overhead, the machines still stood silent, but for her, the universe had collapsed into the steady weight of Ed beneath her hands—heavy, unyielding, irrevocably still.
Her cheek was pressed to his chest, where once there had been a heartbeat so strong she had thought it could outlast anything. Now there was only silence, the hollow echo of her sobs filling the space it left behind.
“Wake up,” she whispered, her voice wrecked, cracked from screaming. She smoothed a trembling hand over his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric. “Please, Ed. Just one more time. You’ve scared me before, you know that. But you’ve always come back. You don’t get to stop here.”
Her tears fell hot against his collar, soaking the cotton. She shifted, cradling his face between her palms, brushing her thumbs across the cooling skin as though she could coax warmth back into it. “You’re so stubborn,” she breathed, her lips trembling against his brow. “So damn stubborn. Fight. Please—fight for me.”
The door creaked softly. A nurse lingered on the threshold, eyes gentle, voice hushed. “Mrs. Warren… we need to… prepare him.”
Lorraine’s head shot up, her expression feral. “No.” The word was sharp, raw. She gathered Ed tighter to her chest, shielding him as if from some unseen threat. “No one touches him. Not yet. Please.”
The nurse faltered, nodded, and withdrew silently, leaving her cocoon intact. The click of the door closing sounded like mercy.
Hours seemed to bleed together. At some point, the lights dimmed to half. At some point, the hallway quieted as the night waned toward morning. Still, Lorraine remained rooted to her chair, half across the bed, one hand tangled in Ed’s shirt, the other stroking his hair with a tenderness that broke her own heart.
Her voice came and went in fragments. Sometimes she prayed, whispering Hail Marys that dissolved halfway through into sobs. Sometimes she spoke to him directly, bargaining, pleading.
“Remember our first house?” she murmured, her lips at his temple. “That terrible roof that leaked? You fixed it yourself, you wouldn’t hear of calling anyone else. I thought you’d fall and kill yourself right there, but you didn’t. You were always stronger than anything life threw at us. So why not this?”
Her throat tightened, and she pressed a desperate kiss to his lips, tasting salt. “Why not this?”
Her body ached, every joint screaming from the hours spent bent over him, but she didn’t care. If she let go, if she leaned back, she was afraid she’d find proof that this wasn’t just a nightmare. That she wasn’t going to wake up and find his chest rising again.
The door opened again sometime later. This time it was a doctor, accompanied by another nurse. Their steps were quiet, cautious, as though approaching something fragile.
“Mrs. Warren,” the doctor said softly. “It’s been several hours. We need—”
Lorraine’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing through her tears. “You need nothing.” Her voice shook, but her grip tightened around Ed’s hand, white-knuckled. “He stays with me. Do you understand? He stays.”
The doctor’s face folded with pity, but he nodded, retreating without another word.
Lorraine slumped forward again, clinging to her husband, her anchor, her world. Her breath shuddered against his skin, her body wracked with sobs that left her empty and aching.
And when exhaustion finally began to pull at her, she curled herself as close to him as she could, her fingers entwined with his, her forehead against his. She whispered into the silence, voice breaking on each word.
“If you think I’ll let go, Edward, you don’t know me at all.”
The sun began to rise outside the window, streaking the sky with pale light. But Lorraine stayed in the dark, wrapped in grief, her body refusing to yield even to morning.
The morning came whether she wanted it or not. The pale gray light filtered through the blinds, bleeding across the hospital floor, crawling toward the bed where she still clung to Ed. Lorraine hadn’t moved—not through the hours of shifting nurses, not through the change of staff, not through the pitying looks of those who dared glance inside. Her body had gone rigid, locked into the shape of her grief: curled toward him, forehead pressed to his arm, hand clasped around his fingers as if she could tether him to the earth by sheer will.
“Mrs. Warren,” a voice came at last, quiet, measured, like one might speak to a cornered animal. She recognized it as the attending physician from the night before, though his tone was gentler now, lined with exhaustion. “It’s morning. We need to…” He trailed off, perhaps catching himself, perhaps unwilling to say the words aloud.
Her response was a hoarse whisper, muffled into Ed’s sleeve. “No.”
The doctor hesitated, then tried again. “We have to transfer him, Lorraine. To the morgue.”
The word sliced through her. She jerked upright, her face streaked with tears, her eyes sharp in their devastation. “Don’t you dare call him that. He’s my husband. He’s not—” Her voice cracked, the word lodged in her throat. She bent over him again, clutching his shirt in both fists. “He’s not gone. Not until I say he is.”
There was a pause, the silence heavy with the weight of pity. Then the doctor’s voice, softer still: “I understand. But you can’t stay here forever.”
The room shifted then—footsteps behind her, a new presence entering. She didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Judy’s voice, trembling, reached her first.
“Mom.”
Lorraine froze. Slowly, she looked over her shoulder. Their daughter stood just inside the doorway, her face blotched from crying, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Behind her, Tony lingered awkwardly, his expression drawn, helpless.
For the first time, the iron walls of Lorraine’s denial cracked. Judy’s presence was unbearable—proof that the world outside this room still existed, proof that life hadn’t collapsed into dust despite what had been ripped from her.
“Mom,” Judy whispered again, taking a tentative step closer. Her voice wavered, fragile. “You—you can’t stay like this.”
Lorraine shook her head violently, pulling Ed’s hand against her cheek. “I’m not leaving your father.”
Judy’s eyes glistened, and she looked away, as though unable to watch her mother shatter. Tony reached forward, resting a hand on Judy’s shoulder, but he, too, said nothing.
It was the nurse—quiet, apologetic—who finally moved toward Lorraine. She crouched at her side, her voice barely above a breath. “Mrs. Warren… we’ll let you walk him down. If you want. But after that… you have to let us take care of him.”
Lorraine stared at her, wild-eyed, then looked back at Ed. The thought of releasing his hand made her stomach twist violently. But the nurse’s words cut through her haze. Walk him down. Accompany him. Not leaving. Not yet.
With trembling resolve, Lorraine rose to her feet. Her legs wobbled beneath her, blood rushing painfully after so many hours of stillness. She pressed a shaking hand against Ed’s chest, leaning over to kiss his forehead one last time in that bed. “I’ll go with you,” she whispered against his skin. “Every step.”
The gurney’s wheels squeaked as they rolled him through the corridors. Lorraine walked beside them, her hand glued to his arm, her fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises if he’d still been able to feel. She was dimly aware of people stopping, staring—orderlies stepping aside, doctors bowing their heads, nurses avoiding her eyes. It felt like the whole hospital knew. The world had tilted, and she was carrying the weight of it alone.
At the doors to the lower levels, they stopped her. A nurse placed a hand gently on her arm, her eyes kind but firm. “This is as far as you can come.”
Lorraine’s chest seized. She clung tighter to Ed’s arm, her knuckles bone-white. “No. You said—”
“I know,” the nurse murmured. “But this is the end.”
The words broke her. A raw sound tore from her throat as she bent over Ed, pressing frantic kisses to his cheek, his lips, his hands. “I love you,” she whispered, over and over, a mantra, a lifeline. “Do you hear me, Hon? I love you. Always.”
When they gently pulled her back, she fought them with a desperation that bordered on violence, her nails catching fabric, her body straining. Judy rushed forward, arms wrapping tight around her mother’s shoulders, holding her even as Lorraine thrashed.
“Mom, please,” Judy sobbed, tears streaming down her face. “Please—you’ll fall.”
Lorraine’s strength broke. She collapsed into her daughter’s arms, the gurney slipping out of sight, the sound of its wheels echoing down the hall until it disappeared into silence.
Home was worse.
The house was too big, too hollow. His shoes were by the door. His jacket hung on the hook. His coffee cup sat on the counter, half-full from that morning, the liquid long gone cold. Lorraine moved through the rooms like a ghost, her hands brushing surfaces, her eyes catching on every trace of him.
She ended up in their bedroom, standing at the foot of the bed, staring at the indentation still left on his pillow. The sight unraveled her. With a broken cry, she crawled onto the mattress, dragging the pillow to her chest, burying her face in the faint lingering scent of him.
The house was silent but for the sound of her sobs, muffled into cotton. Silent, and unbearably empty.
The first morning came like a punishment. The sunlight cut through the curtains, too bright, too harsh, as though the world hadn’t been gutted the night before. Lorraine lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, unable to move. The sheets on Ed’s side were still tangled, dented with the imprint of his body. The smell of him lingered faintly on the pillow beside hers—shaving soap, coffee, something warmer and uniquely his. She buried her face into the fabric and breathed until her chest ached, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing was enough.
When she finally forced herself downstairs, the kitchen was a hollow mockery of routine. The coffee pot gleamed in the morning light, waiting to be filled. She reached for two mugs out of habit, only to stop short, the realization hitting her with a fresh wave of grief. Her hands trembled as she set one back down, the clink of ceramic on wood unbearably loud in the silence. She made a single cup, sat at the table, and stared across at the empty chair where Ed should have been. The steam curled upward, untouched.
Meals became torture.
Judy tried—she came by with Tony, carrying grocery bags, cooking dinner, setting the table as though pretending at normalcy could make it real. But every time they sat down, Lorraine’s gaze fell to the head of the table. The chair was there, waiting. She could almost hear the scrape of wood as Ed pulled it back, could almost see his broad shoulders filling the space. She would pick at her food, smiling faintly when Judy spoke, nodding at Tony’s gentle attempts at conversation—but her eyes always strayed back. That silence at the head of the table roared louder than any voice.
Sometimes Judy would reach across the table, squeeze her hand, and say nothing at all. And Lorraine would blink back tears, murmuring, “I’m all right, darling.” It was a lie, and they both knew it.
Even going to Church was worse.
The pew where they always sat—second from the front, left side—yawned open beside her like a wound. Lorraine walked down the aisle on shaky legs, clutching her rosary so tightly the beads left marks in her palm. She slid into her spot and stared at the vacancy where Ed’s arm should have been, resting against the wood, where his hand should have been folded over hers. The hymns rose around her, voices soaring, but her own lips barely moved.
During the prayers for the departed, she broke. Tears spilled hot and fast down her cheeks, and she pressed her hands over her face, trying to stifle the sobs. People glanced her way, pity etched in their faces, but she couldn’t care. That empty seat beside her was unbearable.
And the nights were dark and long, and oh so silent. The house sank into silence, the kind that wasn’t peaceful but suffocating. Lorraine lay in bed staring into the dark, the sheets cold where Ed’s body should have been. She would turn onto her side, reaching out instinctively—her hand meeting only emptiness.
Sometimes she spoke into the stillness, voice hoarse and whisper-thin. “Goodnight, Ed. Sweet dreams.” Words that had once been routine, exchanged in quiet devotion before sleep, now echoed against the walls with no reply. Other nights, she couldn’t bring herself to speak at all, afraid of the sound of her own loneliness.
Sleep came rarely, and when it did, it was shallow and cruel. She would wake with a start, reaching for him, certain she’d felt the bed shift with his weight. But there was nothing. Only the steady thrum of her own heart, too loud, too alone.
And yet, every day, she moved. Because she had to. She watered the plants Ed had insisted on keeping by the window. She folded the blanket he always left crumpled on the couch. She lit candles by the crucifix and whispered prayers for his soul, even as her own felt fractured beyond repair.
But beneath it all—every small act, every forced breath—the longing never loosened its grip. It was in the smell of his jacket hanging by the door, in the faint scuff of his shoes against the floorboards, in the photographs lining the mantel that seemed to ache with laughter now silenced.
It was in her.
Everywhere, always, it was him.
Then, it happened on the sixth night.
Lorraine had gone through the motions again: dishes washed, rosary whispered, candles lit, bed turned down. The house was neat, orderly, silent—all the things she thought she could control. But inside, she was fraying.
She tried to read, to lose herself in the familiar weight of scripture, but the words blurred. Her hands trembled so badly the pages rustled like dry leaves. With a quiet sob, she shut the book and pressed it to her chest, as if it could keep her from coming apart.
Her feet carried her without thought, not to bed but down the hallway, toward the one room she had avoided since that night: Ed’s study.
The door creaked as she pushed it open. The air inside was thick, stale with the scent of paper, old leather, and the faint trace of his cologne. His jacket still hung on the back of the chair, sleeves folded as though he’d only stepped out for a moment. His glasses sat crookedly on a stack of case files, the kind of careless placement that always made her smile when she’d tidy up after him.
Lorraine froze in the doorway, her chest heaving. The sight of it—preserved, untouched, unbearably Ed—was too much.
She stepped inside. Her fingers skimmed the books on the shelf, the cool metal of his lamp, the worn leather of the chair where he’d spent countless nights sketching demons and scribbling notes. She lowered herself into it, sinking into the imprint of his body, and buried her face in the jacket slung across the back.
His smell was there.
Warm, earthy, faint but undeniable. It broke her.
Her sobs tore through the silence, ragged and violent. She clutched the jacket to her chest, rocking as though she could summon him back by sheer force of longing. “Why did you leave me?” she whispered, her voice cracked and raw. “We had more to do. We had—” Her words caught, her breath shattering into hiccups. “I can’t do this without you, Ed. I can’t…”
She slid to her knees on the floor, the jacket tangled in her arms, her forehead pressed to the wood. The room seemed to close in around her, every object screaming his absence. Her hands trembled as she reached blindly for his rosary—the one he’d always kept on his desk. She pressed it to her lips, the beads damp with her tears.
And that was how Judy found her.
The door opened softly, the light spilling across the floor. “Mom?” Judy’s voice was small, uncertain, afraid to disturb the wreckage of grief before her.
Lorraine didn’t look up at first, couldn’t. Her shoulders shook, breath torn apart by sobs she couldn’t contain.
Judy crossed the room in quick, careful steps, and then she was there, kneeling beside her mother, arms wrapping around her. Lorraine collapsed into her daughter’s embrace, her cries muffled against Judy’s shoulder.
“I can’t,” Lorraine gasped. “He’s gone, Judy, and I don’t know how to…” Her voice trailed into broken syllables.
Judy’s own tears slipped silently down her cheeks as she held her mother tighter, rocking her the way Lorraine had rocked her as a child. “We’ll get through it,” Judy whispered fiercely, though her own voice trembled. “Together. You’re not alone, Mom. You’ll never be alone.”
Lorraine clung to her daughter, but the hollow ache inside didn’t ease. Ed’s absence was still there, a wound that refused to close. Yet in Judy’s arms, for the first time since that terrible night, she let herself be held.
And the sobs went on—long, endless, until her body finally gave way to exhaustion, her grief spilling out in the arms of the only piece of Ed she still had left.