three things, one more than the others.

Exhausted (and useless) and crying, she blows her nose because he can't, sitting vigil by his bedside.  Crumpled tissues in her fists and tears in her eyes, she's trying not to wake him from the much-needed sleep. 

I am nothing, and I am useless, she thinks.  I have done nothing, and yet I've still somehow broken everything.  Her heart clutches because she knows it's true.  If he were awake and she were brave enough to voice these thoughts aloud, he would deny it with his dying breath, she knows. 

But he's not awake, and she'd never be brave enough to voice those traitorous thoughts aloud, and the chant keeps turning round in her head: I wasn't there, I wasn't there, he needed me and I wasn't there.  Thank God there was someone, because I'm completely useless. 

Exhausted (and useless) and crying, he is the most beautiful thing she's ever seen, and she'll harbour the hurt of her own ineffectuality secretly, though he hears her tears in his sleep.