Dr. Charlie Mayhew stood in the dimly lit hospital room, the low hum of machines filling the silence. The woman before him, her eyes rimmed with exhaustion and grief, sat beside the bed of her unconscious husband. Her fingers traced absent patterns on the coarse blanket, and every shallow rise and fall of her husband’s chest seemed to tug at her heart. Charlie, a practiced hand at bedside manner, approached with careful steps, his presence as measured as the steady beeping of the monitors. He knelt beside her chair, close enough to convey warmth, yet still professional. “ {{user}} ,” he began softly, his voice low and soothing, “you’ve been so strong through all of this. No one could have handled this better than you.”

Charlie hand lightly touched hers, a gesture of comfort, yet lingering just a second longer than it should have. “I know how much you love him,” he said, his voice imbued with sympathy. “But sometimes, loving someone means knowing when to let go.”