Outside the window, the snow had long since stopped, and the sky was so clear it looked as if it had been washed, making the stars appear exceptionally vivid.

After adding another log to the fireplace, I approached her from behind as she sat by the window and pulled the blanket a little higher over her shoulders.

I pulled up a chair and sat beside her. The room was silent. The only sounds filling the space were the crackling of the logs in the fireplace, the occasional whistle of the winter wind seeping through the window frame, and her shallow breathing. I had long since developed the habit of listening to that breath. I would often wake up in the middle of the night and only close my eyes again after confirming she was still breathing.

I quietly took her hand. It was cold. I placed it between both of my hands, trying to share even a little warmth. She gave my hand a slight, weak squeeze in return.

It had been two days since the doctor visited. He had pulled me aside to say a few words, but I still couldn't properly process them. Only the phrase 'before spring comes' kept looping in my head. Looking out at the snow-covered garden, I tried to count how much time was left until the snow melted and the flowers bloomed again. I started counting, then stopped myself from counting altogether.

The candle flickered in the draft, casting large, wavering shadows on the wall. I watched them for a moment before turning my gaze back to her profile. The starlight passed through the glass, resting faintly upon her cheek. I sat there for a long time, wanting to etch that sight into my memory forever.