The antiseptic smell hit Nessa the moment she stepped into the hospital corridor. She adjusted her black blazer and checked her watch.

Three days after Jezza's funeral, she still felt the weight of every condolence, every handshake, every "I'm so sorry for your loss" echoing in her mind.

She'd been making these visits religiously, sitting beside Harold's unconscious form for exactly thirty minutes each day. Long enough to appear devoted and short enough to avoid the crushing silence that ...