What’s the quietest thing you’ve ever heard in a hospital?

Not the beeping—those are loud. But the hush right after a code, when the room goes still and someone finally lets out a breath they didn’t know they were holding. Or the sound of a hand resting on a chest, just once, like it’s saying: I’m here, I see you. I keep thinking about how much care lives in those pauses. What’s the quietest thing that stayed with you?