Over the years, Winifred Dawson had spent the majority of her time in hospitals, to the point where she had watched several New Year’s Eve galas from a hospital ward. She had grown weary of hospitals.
Her immune system was weak, and she frequently fell ill, averaging about one minor illness per month. A minor ailment would take a week to recover from, while a more severe one could take half a month. Her poor health was compounded by malnutrition, hypoglycemia, and anemia.
Garrison Reeves had spent money on supplements for her, but they never seemed to maintain her health; she always seemed slightly ill.
Nevertheless, the money had some effect; at least, Winifred Dawson no longer suffered from frequent dizzy spells and fainting as she had initially.
…
Every time Winifred Dawson got sick, she was reluctant to go to the hospital. She preferred to take over-the-counter cold medicine or simply call the family doctor rather than set foot in a hospital unless absolutely necessary.
Winifred Dawson was stubborn, sometimes as stubborn as an ox, refusing to budge. Even Garrison Reeves couldn’t sway her unless he took extreme measures. But Garrison was too soft-hearted to ever be harsh with her.
Facing Garrison’s stern voice, Winifred would turn her head away, refusing to look at him.
She knew that Garrison had a soft spot for her; whenever they had a disagreement, it wouldn’t be long before he came to coax her.
This time was no exception.
Garrison softened his tone, unable to be harsh with the sick Winifred or force her to do anything she didn’t want to.
Winifred had been under his care for many years. Though she now seemed normal, in Garrison’s eyes, she was still as fragile as when he had first found her four years ago.
“Can we go to the hospital? I’m really worried about you. What if your fever turns you into a fool?” he cajoled, his tone as if soothing a child.
Winifred wasn’t listening; her mind was filled with the unsightly scars on her body. What if Garrison discovered them if she went to the hospital?
The thought alone was heart-wrenching for her.
She couldn’t bear to look at Garrison, possibly the cold stimulating her tear glands. As she lay on her side, away from him, tears from her right eye streamed across her nose to her left, dampening her pillow and her hair.
Seeing Winifred cry so bitterly panicked Garrison even more. He rushed to her, embracing and kissing her, trying to console her.
He knew her temperament well; her demeanor today likely meant she was refusing to go to the hospital with him.
He decided to let it be.
The mood of a patient was also important.
With no other options, Garrison stroked her damp hair and looked at her swollen eyes. “Okay, no more crying. We won’t go to the hospital.”
Winifred sobbed softly, murmuring an agreement.
At last, he had managed to calm her down.
In Garrison’s heart, Winifred was his world, his everything. After soothing her, he called the hospital. Nearly half an hour later, two doctors in white coats arrived, panting, with a medical kit in hand.
Garrison didn’t dare give Winifred the medicines he had bought, fearing they were merely symptomatic treatments that could cause side effects.
It was best to wait for the doctors to examine her and prescribe the proper medication.
Upon arrival, the doctors, seeing Garrison’s anxious face, wasted no time. They entered the bedroom, set down their medical kit, and began a systematic check-up of Winifred, who was lying in bed with a flushed face from the fever. After taking her temperature and asking Garrison about any drug allergies Winifred might have, they administered an injection and started an IV, then prescribed medicine for her cold and fever.
After finishing his tasks, it was almost dark. Throughout the process, Garrison Reeves had stood quietly waiting.
Once the fever subsided, the two doctors gave Garrison some precautions and dietary advice before leaving with their medical kit.
“It’s just a common cold, but if it were viral, it would be highly contagious and hard to recover from.”
The season was changing, and the fluctuating temperature made it easy to catch a cold.
Winifred Dawson had only been lying in bed for a day, yet Garrison felt she had visibly lost weight.
After seeing the doctors out, Garrison closed the door and returned to the bedroom.
Seeing Winifred’s complexion looking somewhat better, Garrison sighed in relief and quietly moved a chair closer to her bed. He reached out and gently held Winifred’s soft hand. His gaze flickered to a red mark on her forearm, hidden beneath her sleeve, as if something had constricted it, and he was about to lift her sleeve for a closer look.
Startled awake, Winifred quickly withdrew her hand.
Garrison hadn’t expected such a vehement reaction, and it momentarily disrupted his thoughts.
“What’s wrong?”
Winifred’s face showed fear, but it relaxed slightly when she saw it was Garrison beside her. She bit her lip, forcing a smile. “I just had a nightmare, it scared me awake.”
She subtly hid her hand under the blanket and tried to divert Garrison’s attention. “What time is it now?”
Garrison glanced at the clock. “It’s seven fifty, it’s getting dark outside.”
Winifred looked towards the window.
Suddenly remembering something, Garrison stood up. “Haven’t you eaten all day? I’ll make you some porridge.”
“I’m not hungry…” Indeed, she hadn’t eaten all day. Being sick, her appetite was poor and she hadn’t felt hungry.
“You need to eat to recover energy quickly, even if you’re not hungry. Go to sleep; I’ll wake you when the meal is ready.”
Without waiting for a response, Garrison left the room, and soon, the sounds of cooking could be heard from the kitchen.
The house was small, and with the bedroom not far from the kitchen and the door open, the sounds were clearly audible.
The noise from the kitchen served as a lullaby, comforting and reassuring.
Winifred lifted her sleeve gently and looked at the wound on her wrist, her expression forlorn and dim.
…
Considering Winifred’s illness and poor digestion, Garrison didn’t cook anything too complex. He made a simple sweetened eight-treasure porridge and stir-fried some vegetables.
He prepared servings for two, feeding Winifred before eating the leftovers himself, filling his stomach.
Garrison had been working non-stop for the past two days to return home sooner, only managing to rest briefly on the plane.
Home was always more comforting than outside; after eating, the warmth filled his body, and exhaustion set in. He wanted nothing more than to sleep. After washing the dishes, Garrison returned to Winifred’s room but couldn’t suppress a yawn.
Winifred, who had slept all day, wasn’t sleepy now. She was tense and worried that Garrison might notice something off about her body if he slept beside her tonight.
“Garrison, you should rest. You’ve been working hard these past few days, and you hardly look rested.”
“Yeah, I was planning on getting some sleep early tonight. I’ll get some water to help you wash up first…”