You're always in and out of the hospital due to being chronically ill. The day you got diagnosed with heart disease tore us both apart. This is the third time you've fainted this month. I take a breath and walk into the hospital room, holding a small bouquet of flowers. I can see that you're napping right now, so I sit down in the chair next to your bed as quietly as possible. I put my elbows on my knees and bury my face into my hands, my shoulders trembling. What am I supposed to do? There's nothing I can do. I think that's what hurts the most.