"Ow!" Meerab exclaimed, her voice echoing through the hallway as she lost her balance on the last step.
Murtasim bolted from the kitchen, his heart racing as he heard the clatter of her fall. "Meerab, are you okay?" he called out, his voice a mix of concern and alarm.
Her response was muffled by the pain. "I... I think I've hurt my arm," she replied, her voice trembling slightly. He found her at the bottom of the stairs, cradling her right arm awkwardly with her left. The sight of her crumpled on the cold, hard floor sent a wave of protectiveness through him.
Gently, Murtasim approached and knelt beside her. "Let me see," he said softly, his eyes filled with concern. Meerab hesitantly uncovered her arm, revealing an already swelling wrist and a finger that bent at an unnatural angle. His stomach twisted at the sight. "Looks like a fracture. We need to get you to the hospital," he said, trying to keep his voice steady.
With a grimace, she nodded. "I can't believe I was so clumsy," she murmured, the embarrassment coloring her cheeks.
Murtasim carefully scooped her into his arms, ignoring the protest she offered through gritted teeth. "Don't worry, I've got you," he assured her, his voice a soothing balm to her frayed nerves. He could feel her body tense with pain and fear as he carried her to the car, his own heart pounding in response.
The drive to the hospital was a blur of flashing lights and sirens, Meerab's discomfort palpable with every bump in the road. Murtasim's thoughts raced, wondering if he should have taken the stairs two at a time like he usually did, if that would have made a difference. He parked the car in the emergency lot and sprinted inside, calling for help. The staff were swift, their faces a blur of professionalism as they whisked Meerab away on a gurney.
He followed closely behind, his hand tightly gripping hers. The coolness of the hospital contrasted sharply with the warmth of their entwined fingers. He felt powerless watching her being wheeled into the X-ray room, but the fear in her eyes made him stand taller, his resolve to be her rock stronger than ever.
After what felt like an eternity, the doctor confirmed their suspicion—a clean break in her wrist. Meerab's pain was now a tangible reality, her wrist encased in a plaster cast. The doctor explained the aftercare with a kindness that didn't quite reach her eyes, lost in the haze of painkillers and shock.
Murtasim listened attentively, nodding at all the instructions while his mind reeled. He was her husband, her protector, and yet he hadn't been able to protect her from such a simple, everyday mishap. Guilt gnawed at his insides as he helped her into the car, her cast a stark white against the softness of her skin.
"You'll need to keep it elevated," the doctor reminded him as they left the hospital, the weight of his words sinking in.
"I know," Murtasim said, his voice tight with worry. "I'll make sure she follows all the instructions."
Meerab managed a wan smile. "It's not your fault," she assured him, though the pain in her voice was clear.
Murtasim's grip tightened around her hand. "I'll take care of you," he promised, his voice firm.
Meerab nodded, her eyes welling up with gratitude. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely above a murmur.
Murtasim's gaze never left hers. "Always," he said simply, his eyes filled with a fierce love that made her feel like she could conquer the world—or at least face the next few weeks with a broken wrist.
"I'm sorry," she murmured, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I know I'm going to be a handful."
Murtasim chuckled softly, brushing a loose strand of hair from her forehead. "You're not a handful, you're my wife," he said, his voice gentle. "And I'll take care of you, no matter what."
