A Short Story Cut Short, Part One

I have a booklet of collected stories and poetry from my old town. In it, is a story I wrote when I was in high school. Thinking I surely had a copy of this story in my file, I decided I didn't need the booklet anymore. Instead of throwing it away, I have been using the blank back sides of the pages to jot down recipes I want to try. After I try the recipes, I've been ripping the pages out to either discard or copy into my recipe book.

About a month ago, while looking for a recipe, I began to read my story from the booklet. It ended mid sentence along a ripped half page. Curious to read the rest of it again, I went to my file, but it wasn't there. It was then that I remembered I probably had it saved on an old floppy disk, which I had most surely thrown away long ago because my new computer does not read floppy disks.

I know how the story ends, but I'm trying to decide if it is worth rewriting. So, here is the first half (with some editing because I have every right, don't I?):

Caught in the transition from winter to spring, the tired man shielded his bare arms from the crisp breeze. If his wife had been with him, she would have reminded him to wear his jacket, but she was lightly sleeping in a hospital bed inside. He walked away from the front of the towering building and tried to remember where he had parked the car. It seemed to him that weeks had passed since they had hurried there the night before.

The day had been cold and gray. The glistening, wet pavement rushed beneath them as they sped to the hospital. After their arrival, everything was a blur. It all happened so quickly. This was only the second time Andrew had ever been to a hospital. Until now, he had avoided hospitals with great effort. If it weren't for Marie, there were many things that Andrew would never have dared to face again.

He didn't like to walk the long hallways of the hospital, even though it felt good to stretch his cramping legs. This place brought back too many unwanted memories. He told himself that he was over all of that, but when he reached the lobby and saw a man sitting on a long couch with his head bowed to his lap, for a fractured moment he thought it was his father who grieved there. He quickly scolded himself, knowing his father was miles away.

Andrew hesitantly put the overnight bag he was carrying on the floor and sat down next to the trembling man. Firmly, he put his hand on the man's strong shoulder. "Have you lost someone?" was all...

And there it is. So, should I finish it?