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It never budged. With shaky hands, Becca touched Jonathan’s arm. His skin was warm. His colour was pink. He felt alive. He even looked alive, but as the nurse reattached the hose to Jonathan’s mouthpiece and his chest once again began its rhythmic rise and fall, a small voice whispered to Becca that Jonathan was, for all intents and purposes, already dead. Her eyes filled with tears as she laid her head on the bed, her hand still holding Jonathan’s arm. I never meant for it to be this way,she muttered, refusing to believe what she now knew was true. I know you don’t think so, but I do love you and when you recover, things are going to be different.