Dream Sketcher

Him.

Through the glass, Marco watched his newborn son, Arwyn, swaddled in wires no thicker than threads. The infant's chest rose, as if each breath was a miracle.

Behind him, the doctor's voice fractured the silence. "There's... something you need to know."

Arlene's heart monitor beeped, steady. Marco turned slowly. The doctor stood framed in the doorway, her gaze avoiding his.

"The hemorrhage caused irreversible damage," she said. "Her organs are failing. She has less than an hour."

Victor, Arlene's father, collapsed into a chair, his face crumpling. Silent tears carved paths through his stubble. Beside him, Cedric-Arlene's brother-stiffened. A single tear slid down his cheek, too precise, too rehearsed. Performer, Marco thought bitterly.

Ria, Arlene's childhood friend, choked back a sob. "There must be a mistake-"

The doctor shook her head.

Marco didn't move. Couldn't. The world narrowed to Arlene's hand, pale against the hospital sheets, and the faint smile she wore even now.

Less than 24 hours.

That single phrase echoed in his skull over, and over.

"Marco..." She called him. He glanced back at her, and with a hopeless grin, he walked back, beside her.

Arlene squeezed his hand weakly, pulling him back from the void of his thoughts. Her voice was barely audible, fragile as glass. "C-can you... sit beside me for a while?"

His eyes widened, not from shock, but from her smile. It was faint, almost ethereal. She didn't care, even if the ground beneath her was crumbling.

"Yeah... I'm right beside you." He whispered back, but his voice quivered as he spoke. He turned his head back to Ria with a nod.

Ria silently signaled Victor and Cedric out. They were all hesitant at first, but they slowly considered what Arlene wanted just for that time. So they left, along with the doctor.

They were alone. The orange lamp flickered, and it cast her hair in gold. Her fingers brushed his cheek. "Don't cry. Not yet."

He swallowed. "What do you want to talk about?"

"Everything."

So, he asked her favorite color.

"Brown," she whispered. "Like your eyes."

He laughed, raw and broken. "You always lied about that."

Her weak chuckle turned into a cough. "Maybe I just wanted you to look closer."

When her journal slipped from his pocket, she stared at it, recognition flickering. "You found it."

He cradled the worn leather. "You wrote... you hoped I'd forgive you."

"There's nothing to forgive." Her grip tightened. "Just... stay."

She rolled her hazel eyes and didn't answer, but her gaze was fixed on him, and his eyes looked at both her and their baby. The silence between them was loud, but not awkward.

"So, you got a name?" Marco smirked, smoothly brushing the strands of her hair with his hand.

"How about... Arwyn?"

Arwyn. Arwyn Delacroix. That... sounds great.

"Yeah. Arwyn fits." His gaze flicked to Arwyn, just lying down peacefully in the incubator.

But when her eyes blinked, almost closing, she gripped his hand with all her strength.

"Marco..."

Her grip around his arm tightened, like she did when they were last alone, together.

"I don't... I don't want to..."

"No, no no... It's okay, Arlene." He bit his lower lip, trying to hide the tears he was about to release. He forced another unsteady smile.

Hours bled away like nothing. He let her rest, though Arwyn's faint cries echoed from the incubator just there.

Arlene's voice grew thinner and thinner.

She closed her eyes briefly, breathing shallow. When she opened them again, there was determination. She began.

"Hey... Promise me something, Marco."

"Don't... stop drawing." Her voice was firm despite its fragility. "Draw for Arwyn... Draw for us. Don't let this... Don't let me fade... Even just one minute."

"I promise," he choked out. Another tear spilled, no matter how he tried to hold it in. "I'll never stop."

Arlene chuckled for one last time. "You always... knew how to paint the world kinder."

And the lamp flickered more and more.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

The monitor quickened, but Marco didn't call for help.

He climbed onto the bed, lying beside her, and her head nestled in his shoulder.

The weight of her body went slack in his arms. The clock's relentless tick, and the stars shone bright beyond the hospital window barely broke the silence.

Meanwhile, Marco's lips trembled into a frown, the frown of a cry. He wanted her to remember these words that he'd say.

"I'm here," he repeated, his tears soaking into her hair. "I'm here."

But her breath hitched. She smiled wide.

"You... always... were."

Beep! Beep! Beep!

His heartbeat matched the rhythm of the monitor. Fast, then faster.

"Arlene... Don't leave..." Marco's whisper barely left his lips.

And then-

Beeeeeeep!

. . .

Endless tone.

His knees buckled. The world twisted.

The way his eyes flicked downward, the way his shoulders sagged. The way he...

It was over.

The three of them went back inside, hearing the endless, constant tone of the monitor.

And Marco hesitated, as if deciding who or where to look. Victor, her father, standing. Ria, her friend, pressing both hands over her mouth. Cedric, her brother, for once, too stunned to move.

"I–I'm sorry."

Silence. Crushing, suffocating silence.

And just like that, the weight of the world crashed down.