People used to say that good things always comes in threes. I've always wondered if there was a physical law that prevented bad things from happening in that succession as well. Turns out, there wasn't any. Bad things happen all the time. But sometimes, the combination in which these events unfolded are just too perfect in its destruction that 'unfortunate' becomes a tame word in comparison. Sometimes, the world just isn't fair.

“Dad,” Leila greeted me once I stepped out of the elevator and into the hallway of the highest floor, nearly tripping over as she hugged me. I hugged back, careful not to use my new arm.

At thirty-seven years old, she was no longer the young girl I once knew. She had her auburn hair straightened into a ponytail, which flayed slightly at the end. Dressed in classy, onyx black-pleated skirt and a long sleeved, white-collared tip, I could barely recognize her were it not for her hazel eyes behind her silver rimmed, light temple glasses.

But I could not bring myself to rejoice at seeing her again. Gently, I pushed her away to an arms' length. With a sombre stare, I asked, “How's your mother.”

She took a hold of my one good arm. “Follow me,” she said, her eyes glistening on the verge of tears at the thought of her mother's condition.

I followed my daughter through the corridor. In contrary to the lower levels where I was from, the level smelled of faint lavender. The floor was a smooth quartz white, the walls painted bleach instead of wallpapered, with meticulous waves etched into them. It felt more like a hotel corridor than a hospital.

I remarked on the emptiness of the floor. “It's really quiet here.”

“It's the V.I.P level,” she explained. “Other than a few staffed nurses and doctors, hardly anyone ever comes here.”

In all the commotion of the past few days of my life, I had forgotten that Joan was considered a hero, and would of course, be given privileges befitting such a status. Though she never lorded the privilege and had always treated the people around her as friends. Her humble, friendly personality meant she was never consumed by the fame or power that came with her status.

“Here we are.” Leila stopped outside ward 13-G, standing aside to let me enter.

“Aren't you coming with me?” I asked.

She gave a shaky smile, replying, “I think she would like to talk to you alone for this.” I nodded uncertainly at her before opening the door and crossing the threshold.

Right before the door closed behind me however, Leila voiced out, “Dad.” I turned back to face her. “It'll be okay.”

I was sure I gave a smile back. Not as a gesture of reassurance, but of fatherly pride. I had nearly forgotten that at that point in time, she was older than I was. No longer a kid, but an adult fully capable of supporting herself. And apparently, me as well.

With a soft click as the door locked in place, I was blocked off from my daughter. Turning forward, I was treated to a ward that seemed more like a hotel room. Continuing from the design of the corridor outside, the carvings of waves on the wall spread in, expanding into a tapestry of swirled flowers and out into the room. The floors were softly carpeted, and even from my angle, I could see the large screen television embedded into the wall, though it was turned off. Beyond the sill, the window was covered by silver embroidered beige curtains. The lightings were a smooth yellow instead of the glaring white common to hospitals, though a knob beside the door showed the option to change the colour tone.

Stepping forward, I looked into the bathroom. The floor was marbled, and so was the sink. There was a bathtub and a standing shower, with the toilet a comfortable size in contrast to the smaller ones downstairs.

But I wasn't there to admire the view. I was there to visit a person, as reminded to me by the constant beeping of the ECG. The admiration was just my way of stalling myself from facing the inevitable reality. I stepped around the corner.

Blaring at me was the sight of a hospital bed. A sore thumb in the otherwise luxurious room. An ECG stood beside it, along with a drip that was attached to the patient. Her hair, short and dark grey, wore over pained wrinkles that marked her face. Her skin stretched tightly around her facial bone. The woman named after a saint rested with eyes closed.

As nervous as I was when we went on our first date, I walked up to Joan's bedside. Pulling up one of the visitors' chair, I settled down beside her. Seeing the blanket that covered her was slightly wrinkled, I gently readjusted it.

She was still a light sleeper, her eyes fluttering open upon the light disturbance. When her gaze rested on me, a wide grin beamed across her face and I saw the woman I fell in love with again. “Hey you,” she greeted.

“Hey yourself,” I echoed back.

I could see her visibly straining as she moved her hand out. I saved her the effort, bringing mine to hers' instead. Holding it in my only real hand, I massaged the lines that ran the back of the tiny palm.

She watched my actions intently before saying, “Mist Poisoning.” I nodded half heartedly. I was hearing the words, but my mind denied the reality. “There was a ventilation fault in one of the greenhouses. At my age, not long now before it takes me completely.”

“We can freeze you.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” she chided like a grandmother. “I'm an old woman now. The government won't put out money just to preserve me.”

Not having it, I insisted, “They will if I talk to them. Or you can have my place. I don't need it.”

She chuckled, “Such a gentleman.” I looked up to her, her face wore that of patience for a child. At that point, I comprehended just how young I was compared to the people around me. “Listen to me, love. I've lived a full life. I have loving friends. A large, loving family. I was even given the chance to save countless lives.”

Tears filled her eyes, glistening golden in the light. I moved closer to her, bringing her hand up to my head and taking in her scent, one of the last things I could physically feel from her.

She continued, “I have a beautiful daughter. I have Randolf. I have you. Two men that loves me. And just when I thought you were going to leave me, I was blessed with the chance to grow old with you.”

With a cracking voice, I replied, “But I didn't get to grow old with you.” I leaned further into her hand. Even at death's door, she was still supporting me. My pillar of strength. One of the reasons why I even chose to go into cryo-sleep.

“I'm sorry,” she apologized genuinely.

“For what?”

“For being so selfish.”

I kissed the back of her hand. “I'm selfish too. I did all this for my own happiness.” I looked to her and smiled, hoping to lighten any guilt she had with my own shortcomings.

With a grin, she said, “I guess we're both terrible people then.”

“I guess we are.”

After a chuckle, she leaned back into her pillow, staring at the ceiling. “Milton?”

“Yes, my love?”

“I can't feel anything.”

Mist poisoning. She had reached the point where her nerves had shut down and she could no longer walk. The only thing left to her was her sight.

Without saying anything, I leaned in and kissed her lips. I heard her breathe in deep, taking in my scent, tasting my lips. Slowly, I parted with her.

Face-to-face, she smiled embarrassingly, “That must have been disgusting. Kissing an old woman like me.”

Sitting back down, I coolly said, “I only kiss pretty girls.”

She laughed again. And I was sure I was beaming. Her laughter was intoxicating, whatever the age. Her happiness was my happiness. Settling back into a peaceful silence, we simply stayed, enjoying each others' presence.

Until Joan said, “No widest sky, nor furthest seas,” she recited my wedding vows to me. “Will part neither you nor me.”

“No death day due, or life lived lieu,” I continued. She often made fun of the poetic phase of my life. “Will change my eternal love for you.”

We both sat in another bout of silence, contemplating those words. Mountains I could trek and seas could be swam. Death could be crossed and life continued. But now, we were separated by the walls of time. Something that no matter how much I wanted to, I will never surmount.

“Milton,” Joan said softly.

“Yes?”

“You should go,” she said, not with any animosity or annoyance. She just knew that my day was running out, and that I had to go back to the quiescentness of time.

“I can stay,” I stubbornly replied.

“Go,” she insisted. “And I know what you'll try to say. That you have one week left to live and you want to spend it with me.”

She wasn't wrong. That was exactly what I was planning. But I also knew what she was thinking. “But I can't, can I? You all put so much effort into this project. Into me. You want me to see it through.”

She smiled, “We can't be selfish all the time.” She turned to look at the curtained window, as if seeing through the cloth and watching over the whole world. “You don't know this yet. But you've given hope to a lot of people. A shining beacon in these dark times.”

I hesitated, staying in my seat, twiddling the thumb of my metal finger. Then, just as she turned back to face me, I got to my feet. “Okay,” I agreed, leaning in to kiss her forehead.

Joan gave a smile that belied both sadness and joy, shining beads rolling down her face. “Goodbye, Milton.”

I gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. There were no doubts in my mind that if I still could, I would have blinded myself with my own waterworks. “See you later,” though not completely willing, I turned to leave, determined not to look back.

“Mil,” she called out, stopping me in my tracks.

But I did not turn. For a few seconds, I stood staring at the floor, not willing to look up. I knew what she wanted to tell me and I, truly, with all of my being, did not want to hear it. Taking a deep breath to compose myself, I finally looked back to her.

For a second, her smile was so bright, so full of joy, that I saw past her age and wrinkles. The image of the love of my life burned brilliantly into my mind, shining greater than any star.

And she said, “Goodbye.”

I croaked out, “Goodbye.”