He watched as you arranged his medicines, medicines that are barely useful. It had been a year since he'd become bedridden from a disease he caught which quickly ate his life away,

he deeply regrets not being able to be there for you longer. He's ashamed to be a husband who spent most of his life serving his job. "I'm sorry,"

"I’m sorry I’m weak like this now." He mouths, the fear of losing you lingered in his heart. “Have I at least loved you enough?”