My Blind Husband

In truth, a pang of hunger gnawed at Cherise’s stomach.

The ordeal of last night’s car ride had sapped much of her energy.

She pressed her lips together and instructed, “Pop it in the fridge for me; I’ll eat it when I return.”

With a concerned glance, Frances slipped two packets of hot milk into Cherise’s bag. fearing she might grow famished on her way.

Cherise sipped on the warm milk, exiting the manor while settling into Mr. Kolson’s car.

Thirty minutes later, the vehicle pulled up at the research institute.

Just as before, upon stepping out of the car at the institute’s entrance, Cherise noticed her colleagues‘ furtive glances and hushed murmurs.

The unresolved plagiarism issue cast a pall over her interactions.

These silent judgments weighed heavily on Cherise’s spirits.

She hastened towards Heather’s usual workspace, milk in hand.

Heather had mentioned earlier that Mr. Whitlock sought to speak with her, prompting Cherise to head straight for his office.

of the door, Cherise caught the sound

the first

one jolted her to action.

Heather’s

she rushed forward, flinging

greeted her shook Cherise to her

on the bed, stripped to her shirt, while Yolanda, clad in white, sat nearby,

stood at Yolanda’s side, offering ointment with a respectful

been Heather’s cries as her blisters

earth are

Cherise’s usually composed demeanor

to acknowledge her presence, her tone icy, “I’m attending to her wounds.”

distress, unable

“Indeed,”

the ointment, “This is the special balm Ms. Weiss procured. It promises to heal

“Precisely,”

from Mr. Whitlock and dabbing it onto Heather’s punctured blisters with a cotton swab. “It’s better to endure brief discomfort now than prolonged agony later.”