Sometimes loneliness was simply an empty chair beside a hospital bed.
Richard looked back toward the hallway.
Then at the woman.
"This is ridiculous," he whispered.
He should leave.
Instead, he set the daisies carefully on the window ledge.
He pulled the empty chair closer to the bed and lowered himself into it.
Richard had never considered himself a singer.
Olivia had once asked him to stop singing during a school car ride because, in her words, "Dad, you're making the song nervous."
But his mother had sung to him when he was sick.
His grandmother had sung while washing dishes.
And when Olivia was born, terrified and premature, Richard had spent three nights beside an incubator quietly repeating every song he remembered because he had not known what else to do.
So he began with the simplest one.
"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine."
His voice was low.
Rough.
A little off-key.
But gentle.
He finished the melody and sat quietly afterward.
The ventilator continued breathing.
Hiss.
Click.
Hiss.
Click.
Richard glanced toward the woman.
"I know," he said softly. "Not exactly professional quality."
Nothing moved.
"But you didn't throw anything at me, so I'm counting that as approval."
He smiled despite himself.
That was how Nurse Lily Chen found him.
Lily had worked ICU nights for six years. She had seen terrified families, exhausted residents, security officers chasing confused patients, and once a food delivery driver who somehow made it past three restricted doors before realizing he was nowhere near the maternity ward.
She had never seen a hospital janitor sitting beside Simone Sinclair and singing.
Lily stopped in the doorway.
Richard's voice was not beautiful.
But it was kind.
There was something about it that made Lily hesitate before interrupting.
She listened for several seconds.
Then she gently cleared her throat.
Richard nearly jumped out of the chair.
"Oh."
His face turned red.
"I am so sorry."
He stood quickly.
The daisies slipped from the ledge.
He caught them before they hit the floor.
"Wrong room," he said. "I thought this was 412."
Lily looked at the flowers, then at Simone.
"Your grandmother is Evelyn Carter?"
"Yes."
"She's two doors down."
"I know that now."
Lily smiled.
Richard reached for his coat.
"I'll get out of your way."
"It's all right."
Richard paused.
Lily checked Simone's monitor, adjusted something near the bed, then looked toward him again.
"You didn't disturb anything."
Richard nodded toward the woman.
"Does she have family coming later?"
Lily became quiet.
"Her name is Simone Sinclair."
Richard waited.
"She's the CEO of Sinclair Medical Group."
Richard's eyebrows rose slightly.
"The healthcare group?"
"Yes."
Lily nodded toward the room.
"She helped fund major expansions here and oversees three other hospitals in the state."
Richard looked around.
He had cleaned offices with Sinclair Medical Group printed across binders and financial reports. He had passed framed photographs of executives during overnight shifts.
He had never paid much attention to the faces.
"What happened?"
"Car accident."
Lily's voice softened.
"Seven weeks ago."
Richard looked again at the empty chair.
"Seven weeks?"
Lily nodded.
"She's been unconscious most of that time."
Richard hesitated before asking the question.
"Nobody visits?"
Lily looked down at the chart in her hands.
"Her assistant came several times during the first two weeks. Lawyers. Business people. Doctors."
"That's not what I meant."
"I know."
Lily looked at Simone.
"Not really, no."
Richard stared at the still hand on the sheet.