Love Burned, She Rose Unscathed

On a quiet night, a whisper floated through the darkness from the other end of the phone, "Anne, it hurts."

Murray's voice was shaky, betraying his pain. In that instant, Roseanne felt sympathy.

Murray was strong, stubborn, and never one to back down. Whether it was drinking himself into a stomach ulcer or working so hard that he forgot to eat, he pushed himself to the limit. During those times, Roseanne had tried everything to help him recuperate.

She ensured he ate three square meals and even learned some massage techniques from an experienced physiotherapist. After much effort and time, she managed to get his health back on track. Yet, all she got in return was a terse "You're a bother." And sometimes, when his patience ran thin, he'd frown and snap, "Why are you acting like my mom?"

The memories, long buried, resurfaced in her mind, but the wave of sympathy quickly faded.

Roseanne replied, "I'm not a doctor. If it's that bad, go to the hospital."

When he heard her cold response, Murray's grip on the phone tightened, yet he persisted, "I want the oatmeal you make."

Roseanne stayed silent, listening.

more words came from the other end, resulting in a silent standoff. Finally, Roseanne

remained motionless, holding the phone. Thinking he was asleep, the nurse glanced over and was surprised to find him awake, his

nurse's voice trailed off

phone and closed his eyes, worn out

...

was already up as dawn

Cliff's number. "How's your stomach? Feeling better?

sleep, Cliff

moment he heard Roseanne's

your oatmeal was

it in a

ever since.

lie, telling him when to come and pick it up before ending the call. She and Murray could never return to what they once

Millie brought him oatmeal daily. Murray would ask her to leave it to cool down each time, planning to eat it later. Today, as usual, Millie arrived early, placed the oatmeal down,