The Fear I Loved

chapter 29.

Hefty coughs fill the room.

And trails of perspiration beads on her forehead. Light tears stream down her dry cheeks and she squeezes her eyes shut. She breathes out a shudder, as the uneasiness continuously grows in her lungs. She attempts to sit up on the bed, yet her weary limbs fail to lift her upwards.

The door slowly creaks open, a subtle scrape reverberating the hollow room. She briefly glances at the incoming figure and forces a smile on her pale face.

He enters the chamber with a steaming warm cup of mint red tea. His shoulders were sagged forward, an apparent stretch of line, caused by desperation, formed layers on his forehead. He gently places the teacup on the nightstand and pulls a stool to where his wife is resting.

"My dear," he gently announces.

His tender voice brought her spirits up, as it always did. Even as her muscles and body grew weaker each day, she tried to be strong for him.

"Hm?" she hums.

She glances at her husband, her bloodshot red eyes clawing another deep wound in his heart. She hadn't been sleeping well as of lately, and even if she did, it'd be a few hours before the gnawing illness seized her.

He wipes the non-existent dust off of his palms before extending it out to caress his knuckles against his wife's cheek.

"The neighbor generously gave us some fresh apples and oranges,"

Her lips stretch up into a wide smile before another fit of groggy coughs well up from her throat. She lurches forward, a palm clasped over her mouth. Her husband motions closer and he firmly holds her shoulders.

He sits on the edge of the bed and pulls her into a tight embrace. When she retracts her shaky palm away from her mouth, there is a heavy stain of crimson red reflected. His chest flutters painfully and he becomes further dismayed and indignant at her illness. He breathes in heavily and rubs her arm up and down.

"I swear to you, my love, I am going to find a cure for your sickness. And you will spring back up alive and well and we could travel the whole world, as we had always planned," he enlightens.

His wife merely chuckles at his statement. She wipes the stain off of her lips with her other hand. She leans her head on his chest and beams a bittersweet smile. A single tear streams down her cheek.

"That is ... a dream worth ... achieving,"

He tries to lean in for a kiss, but is stopped by his wife's bloodied palm. She slowly shakes her head and returns a wide smile.

"I don't want to pass ... my sickness to you, my dear,"

He could not recall how long this had been going on for, but he knew it pained his wife more than it did to him. He is an old soul, although he's recently just reached forty, and is a locally renowned man who specializes in traditional medicine.

The only obstacle, a confusing enigma is his wife's illness.

He vowed half of his profession to aid his wife's recovery before everything became too late. The other half was to help the local citizens in the village. He ventures far beyond the village sometimes in search of answers and research, yet not for long. 

He is afraid that if he leaves his wife with a trusted company, her health might worsen.

Life hadn't been the same ever since she was plagued with the disease.

On the other hand, he felt that venturing beyond the village wasn't enough. He thought about it several times as if it was bugging him to sacrifice a day or two to develop his practice. He doesn't know how much time she has remaining and it is mentally killing him.