He refused to leave.
The last thing she asked was “Will you still be here when I wake up?” And he had said yes, so he wasn’t going anywhere. He didn’t even move to a different spot in the room. He stayed kneeling at the side of her bed, holding her hand loosely in his, just where she’d left him when she faded to sleep. He did let someone get him a pillow to kneel on and a sandwich to eat with his free hand, but he wasn’t going anywhere. Just in case she woke up. He couldn’t live with himself if she woke up and he wasn’t right there for her.
Everything that had gone wrong, all the bad that was bound to come—he couldn’t fix any of it or stop any of it from coming. But he could be there when she woke up. So he would.