The old woman listened to the hum of the machines and the gentle breathing of the man lying in bed on the other side of the thin white curtain.
Tomorrow she’d be going home to her own bed where she would listen to a different sound...a sound she had missed these last two weeks...the ticking of her clocks.
The cuckoo clock which hung in the kitchen; the little plastic rooster alarm clock in the bathroom; and the old chimer in the living room were part of her, and she missed the feeling of life they gave the rooms as she went from one to the other throughout her day.
Tomorrow her daughter would come at ten and hopefully by eleven she’d be stretched out on her cozy oversized sofa, wrapped in her yellow blanket, cup of tea on the end table, and her favourite program on the telly.
She had been lucky this time...but now things would be different - one more fall and going home would no longer be an option.
As she listened to the hum of the machines and the gentle breathing of the man lying in bed on the other side of the thin white curtain tears trickled down her cheeks and settled in the curve of her neck...it was just a matter of time.