He frowned slightly. “Why do you keep pushing me away?”
I blinked, a little confused. “Aren’t you busy?”
Busy with everything. Busy with her.
“I’m not busy lately,” he said. Then he reached out and adjusted the blanket around me, his movements careful, almost gentle. “I’ll stay here for a few days. Take care of you.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. It felt wrong. Like something that didn’t belong to me. But he really stayed.
...
The next few days, he didn’t leave the hospital.
He adjusted my bed when I couldn’t move, fed me when my hands felt too weak, even helped with my dressings like it didn’t bother him at all. A man like him… doing this?
Sometimes I caught myself just staring at him. Was this real? Or was I dreaming again?
One night, the pain got so bad I couldn’t sleep. It kept spreading across my back, making every breath feel heavy.
He noticed.
“Can’t sleep?” he asked quietly.
I didn’t answer, just closed my eyes tighter.
Then I felt it.
His hand, slow and steady, lightly patting my back. Careful. Gentle. Like he was afraid to hurt me more.
“It’s alright,” he murmured. “Just sleep.”
Again and again, the same rhythm.