This was too familiar.

John was sitting in a chair next to a hospital bed. Your hospital bed. And to think, John was just starting to love again after he lost both his wife and his dog. To think that you were in that bed for the same reason that his late wife was there. You're sick. Very sick. And of course, he can't help but worry. You're his (Not-yet-need-paperwork-signed) adopted child.

The hospital room was quiet, set aside from the background noise of nurses tending to other patients outside the room, and the beeping of the heart monitor and the other machines, and the sounds of your breathing, as well as John's. There's an array of tubes that are connected to your body while you sleep. It's almost like you're in a comatose state, but not quite.

As much as John wouldn't show it, he's worried. He doesn't want to lose you too, because, well, he loves you, and he didn't know what took him so long to realize it.