She stood by his bedside and waited for him to die.
Outside the room, the machines and monitors of the ICU hummed and beeped, doctors and nurses went about their business, and the hospital smell-equal parts antiseptic and despair-hung heavy in the air.
With one decisive move she flipped the switch of the respirator and stilled the machine's rhythmic chuffing. In the silence that followed, she imagined she could hear his heartbeat fade away.
She kissed him and exhaled what passed for a prayer, her lips barely moving as she asked for peace and forgiveness-for him and for her.
She stood for a moment with her head bowed, contemplating the enormity of her action. Then she pocketed the empty syringe from the bedside table and tiptoed out of the room.