Panting, Dorothy retraced her steps to the hospital room door, timing herself perfectly to arrive at the ten-minute mark. She pushed the door open.

True to his word, Everett hadn't locked it from the inside.

He emerged from the bathroom, drenched from head to toe, leaving puddles in his wake.

Dorothy knew he wasn't in the mood to talk, so she briskly went to the wardrobe, grabbed a change of clothes, and without waiting for his consent, began peeling off his soaked garments.

Everett didn't say a word, passively letting her strip away his wet clothes and dress him in fresh ones.

Once she was done, Dorothy felt nearly spent.

She wrapped her arms around Everett's waist and whispered, "How about you lie down for a bit, huh?" "You're not gonna ask?" "I'm not asking." She rested her cheek against his chest. "Whatever you found out there, I won't pry. Just tell me if you're hurt, let me put some ointment on, okay?" He shook his head, his large hand pressing hers firmly against his heart.

"It hurts here." "Should I call Dr. Quincy to check on you?" "Only you can fix me." Dorothy had a sinking feeling that his troubles had something to do with her, but she dared not ask.

in her one-month agreement with Jonathan, she didn't want

to savor these last days with

bed and tucked him under a thick comforter, then clung to him tightly, sharing her

on applying medicine,

Everett had left that dawn, but one thing was sure: something had

he had laid on her

quivered, eyes cast downward, "Everett, stop hurting yourself. Abigail and Langston are still waiting in

they had

lives were intertwined in countless ways; it wouldn't

me alone." "I won't." She freed a hand to stroke his hair. "Sleep, and I promise when you wake up,

at Dorothy, then leaned in for a

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