At one point in her life, she was the sun, and he, the moon. They were the textbook definition of loving, and to be loved. And even if they were young and free, their love still bore fruit: the stars. All it took was one phone call to tell him the outcome of their tryst. But then she sat there in the hospital, with the sky outside her window about as gray as the curtains around her bed, waiting. Waiting. But he never came. And she never saw him ever again.