It was a cold, brisk night in December . The little city was asleep and not a single car was out since it was Christmas Eve and everyone was home with their families waiting for Santa Clause to make his way through the snow storm that was forming above the sleepy city. Every building was dark, except for the single light in the museum's basement that barely shown through the thin layer of snow. 

Everyone in the museum had gone home to be with their families for Christmas, including the night guards. Well, almost everyone. Even after his rounds of cleaning, the janitor stayed in the museum. For he did not want to go home for Christmas. 

"But why the museum of all places?" you may ask, "Does he have no family?"

The janitor was very old and had no siblings and no children. He is  married and is with his wife of 50 years who had passed away from a heart disease that caused the vesicles in her heart to erode. It was such a rare and incurable disease that the doctors begged his dying soulmate to donate her heart to science, in which she did.

Now her heart sits in the museum basement in a jar of clear liquid. Preparing for a medical history exhibit that would premier in January. 

So no, the janitor did not sit alone in the museum on Christmas Eve. He sat with his wife in his arms. Holding her close to his body with only a glass jar separating them.