Sean sat in the anticipation, counting the seconds. The quiet of the room accentuated the hum of the fridge from the kitchen as if it's boring into his soul. Sweat dripped down his brow. He brushed it away with a trembling hand. The room was a perfect temperature, yet Sean was flushed with heat. His leg bounced in a repetitive restless motion. Outside, the leaves on the trees danced with careless abandon; the glass separated the two realities, for the wind blew even when his world had stopped. Time is no concept for a man who's seen death; life is not measured by your number of breaths. Those are Sean's favorite song lyrics. They've been floating around in his head for the past few days. They seemed to ring more true now. A bike engine rumbled up the driveway, cutting off seconds later. A figure passed by the window. There's a soft knock at the door. the moment he was waiting for. Sean crossed the room in three strides, hesitating with his hand on the knob… He turned it. The door swung open to reveal his wife, looking as good as ever.

Sean is sitting at the dining table with his wife. The morning sun shines in the window, casting bright patches on the table and walls.
"Honey?" Sara prompts.
"Hmm…?"
"I asked if you're excited for our first anniversary date today?"
"Oh. Yes I am.
"I have a few errands to run, I expect to be back in a couple hours."
"Ok. I'll see you then.
Sara gets up from the table. She walks over to Sean, kissing him goodbye.
"Love you babe." Sean conveys.
"love you more!" The door swings shut behind her.
Sean plans to buy flowers to plant in the front yard. He figures he'll have just enough time to walk down to the flower shop, and be able to plant them before Sara gets back. He waits by the window until she pulls off on her motorcycle. Sean slips his shoes on, heading out the front door. The local garden center is only a few blocks away. He starts down the sidewalk. The day is sunny and warm. A gentle breeze blows through the tree tops, rustling the leaves in a sound like the ocean.
Sean is so lost in thought, he doesn't even realize when he's reached the store until he's nearly passed it. He heads inside. marigolds, roses, and petunias are what Sean is after. He locates the flowers of choice. The total payed is forty-seven sixty. Sean begins the walk back to his house, carrying the crate of flowers. After arriving, he sets the flowers down on the front lawn, heading for the shed at the back of the house. Sean retrieves a few tools, heading back to the front. He begins methodically digging holes in the flower bed. Each hole is precisely placed, exactly the way he thinks Sara will like it. After some time of digging, planting, and filling in the holes, he reaches a meditative state. All of his problems seem to melt away; Sean becomes one with the task. He Is almost sad when the flowers run out. Sean looks over his work. The flowers are well placed, scattered intentionally around the bed. Next comes the watering. Sean gets the hose from the side of the house; he snakes it around to the front. Watering the flowers wasn't nearly as much fun as planting them, but it's still something to do. After the task is complete, he squares away all of the tools before heading inside. He changes into clean, nicer clothes. Sara should be back soon. The flower endeavor took nearly two hours; Sean is startled by how quickly the time passed. He sits down on the living room couch, waiting. He checks his phone a few times. half an hour passes, no word. Usually she'd text when she's heading home. The phone call startles him, but when he looks at the screen; it's not Sara's number that pops up. He answers. "Hello?"
"Hello. Is this Sean Castor?" The woman's voice inquires.
"Yes?"
"Your wife was in a motorcycle accident an hour ago. She's stable now, but in critical condition."

Sean barely remembers racing his motorcycle to the hospital. All he knows is here and now. He sits next to his wife's hospital bed; the ventilator keeping her breathing hums with a gentle consistency. Sean isn't sure how long he's been sitting here for. The doctor's told him she was placed in a medically induced coma because she suffered brain swelling, and she may be able come out of it in three days. The police came to talk to him a while ago; they haven't been able to locate the driver who hit her bike. Sean's eyes are like constant wells. He tried wiping them, but they just fill back up. Nothing can console him. Sean's phone rings. He declines the call without even looking at it. Sean can't bring himself to talk to anyone right now; he feels so alone, so removed from reality. Everything is like a dream. The phone rings again. Red rage boils inside of him; all of his sadness transmutes to fury. Who is this person who dares disturb him in this moment of agony? He answers.
"What?!"
"Is this Sean Castor, Husband to Sara Castor?" A woman with a calm tone asks.
"Yes. And who the fuck are you?"
"I'm Mila. I represent a company called Conscious Corp. Have you ever heard of it?"
"Why are you calling me?"
"Your wife had a–session with us just earlier today. We heard about her accident."
"What-do-you-want?"
"It's simple sir. We're working on experimental technology to copy human consciousness to a digital medium. If it becomes necessary, we can build a cutting edge artificial body, and imprint her consciousness to it."
Sean is speechless for a moment. "How dare you… She's not dead." He hangs up the phone, turning it off for good measure. What was that? Copy human consciousness, artificial body. The woman's words swirl in his head. Sean's chest feels heavy as if he's breathing with an elephant on it. His heart begins beating fast. Too fast. Before he knows what's happening, he's running. Running. Through halls. Past people. More halls. Doors. Fresh air. The evening sun is low in the sky. The air is still. It's as if the world keeps moving while he stays frozen.

Sean sits next to the hospital bed, looking at his wife as she lay there—so still, so lifeless. He didn't sleep at all last night; he just watched her. Time moves at an excruciating pace. Morning comes and goes. The quiet somberness of the room becomes suffocating. Sean isn't sure how much longer he can stay here pretending everything is fine; he's had enough. He makes his way to the front entrance. The thought of going home sickens him, but anywhere is better than here—he was wrong.

As soon as Sean pulls his bike into the driveway, a wave of nausea hits him; he's barely able to park the bike and pull his helmet off before he is on all-fours heaving on the front lawn. Tears stream down his face, making the world blurry—he wipes them away. The brightly colored flowers he planted yesterday look muted in color, as does everything else. The thought of going inside sends another wave of nausea coursing through him. Sean gets up from the grass. The once welcoming home looks foreboding, despite the brightness of the afternoon. He puts one foot in front of the other until he's standing in front of the door. being here is strange, almost unfamiliar in a way.

Sean steps inside—a barrage of memories return. He remembers their first kiss in this entryway after they had bought the house. He remembers that day they walked back from the movie theatre while the sky poured down rain; they kissed on the front patio because Sara always wanted to try it. When they came inside they left puddles all over the entry. After they changed clothes, It took forever to warm up. Sean moves into the living room. The bowl they used for last night's movie popcorn sits on the coffee table. They had watched Hereditary. When the jump-scare near the end of the movie happened, Sara leaped right into Sean's arms, spilling the rest of the popcorn. Sara loves watching horror, even though she gets so frightened by it; She'd once told Sean that he made her feel brave. Sean steps into the kitchen. The memory of his first birthday in this house floods in. Sara had insisted that she cook him breakfast. Every time he tried to help out she would give him a stern look, “Just sit there and look pretty” she would tell him. Sean also remembers their first argument they had in this house happened right here in the kitchen. They were having a heated debate about which color to paint the living room. Sara wanted a more neutral color, while Sean wanted something that popped more. The argument went round-and-round until Sara got quiet, a grin spread across her face. Sean remembers it clear as day. He asked her what was so funny, but she just looked at him with this goofy smile before bursting out laughing, “Awe, it's our first fight here” she said. Sean remembers all of his anger melted away; suddenly the color of the walls didn't matter to him, only this beautiful woman he was making a home with. He learned an important lesson that day, to always see people as they are, not getting caught up in how he feels in the moment. Sean makes his way back through the living room, walking up the staircase. The bedroom is exactly how they left it the morning before. Sean sits down on the bed, remembering the time he got Lyme disease after a particularly unfortunate tick bite. He was so sick he couldn't even get out of bed. Sara had taken a few days off work to care for him. He remembers her bringing him food—most of it he didn't eat. She'd lay in the bed with her arms wrapped around him, soothing him in a way only she knows how. To this day, Sean is convinced he made it through by her grace alone. The bed he sits on is still made from yesterday, exactly the way Sara always does it—the sides are tucked neatly under the mattress, the pillows pulled up, resting against the headboard. One of Sara’s shirts lay on the floor near his feet. He picks it up. The shirt still smells of her—traces of lavender and cinnamon.
Sean breaks down, falling to the floor. All the suppressed emotion surfaces at once in giant, heaving sobs. Life will never be the same.

* * *

Sean sits in the anticipation, counting the seconds. The quiet of the room accentuates the hum of the fridge from the kitchen as if it's boring into his soul. Sweat drips down his brow. He brushes it away with a trembling hand. The room is a perfect temperature, yet Sean is flushed with heat. His leg bounces in a repetitive restless motion. Outside, the leaves on the trees dance with careless abandon; the glass separates the two realities, for the wind blows even when his world stops. A bike engine rumbles up the driveway, cutting off seconds later. A figure passes by the window. There's a soft knock at the door. the moment he was waiting for. Sean crosses the room in three strides, hesitating with his hand on the knob… He turns it. The door swings open to reveal his wife, looking as good as ever. Only, it’s not his wife, not really. His wife had died in that hospital bed, after he had the ventilator turned off; the doctor’s told him there was no chance of recovery. In the bedroom, after Sean broke down, he called Mila—the woman with conscious corp—to accept her offer.