I flopped back onto the bed to read, but after some time, I realized I was
holding the book upside down. A restless feeling started creeping up on me. I
couldn’t help but wonder about Bryant’s condition. If it was because of that
gunshot, it should have been me, not him.
With my thoughts in turmoil, I closed the book and decided to get some fresh
air on the balcony. Then, there was a knock on the door, followed by Gary’s
voice, “Mrs. Ferguson.”
My steps quickened as I opened the door. “Gary, how’s Bryant? Is he okay?”
Gary said, “Mr. Bryant’s got a fever.”
I let out a sigh of relief, thinking it was just a cold, but then Gary added, “It’s
the gunshot wound from the other day. It got infected. Mr. Bryant won’t let
anyone touch him and refuses to take his medicine.”

“You’re getting a divorce, and I shouldn’t even be here, but he’s been calling
out for you in his sleep,” Gary confessed.
My heart squeezed at those words. “I’ll go see Bryant.”
It was the least I could do.
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Bryant’s cheeks flushed with an unnatural pink, his breathing steady, but his
brows furrowed as if troubled by a weighty concern.
Gary pointed to the medicine on the nightstand. “The doctor just prescribed
these. They should help with the fever and infection.”
I nodded. “Okay.”
Gary said respectfully, “I’ll leave you two alone then. Call if you need
anything.”
Once Gary left, it was just Bryant and me. I reached out to feel his forehead. It
was burning.
As I was about to pull my hand away, he caught it, murmuring in a low voice,
“Honey, Jane… why do you want a divorce? Please, don’t leave me.”
The room fell silent, each word piercing through the quiet and straight into my
heart.
I stood there for a long while before gently patting his face. “Bryant, wake up.
You need to take your medicine.”
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