My Wife, My Man?

Chapter Thirty

"The more I think about it, the more I realize there is nothing more artistic than to love others."
Vincent Van Gogh

The disappointment only came a week later when she experienced a sudden asthmatic attack. It served as a reminder of the breathing problem she suffered from. He couldn't risk her health for a little adrenaline-rushing jump, even when it was only three days away.

"How are you feeling?" he asked, studying her a bit as they drove back home from the hospital that day. It was the third time in one week.

Her chest slowly rose and fell. She said nothing at first, as her body felt drained. Spending a night in the hospital was among the few things she hated. The coldness felt in that place was indescribable, it could penetrate one's soul.

An exhaustive sigh escaped her mouth and she looked at Jack. "I feel awful," she responded quietly. She sighed again, then rested her head on the window and stared at the roads and buildings they passed.

Jack felt concerned. This was the second time he had ever seen her have a severe asthmatic attack. Usually, she only ran out of breath, and it wasn't something that her inhaler couldn't solve in a few moments. It scared him whenever he thought that such a thing could end her life. He shook his head, refusing to think of that. She's not going to die; he quickly brushed the thought of death off his head and sighed. He couldn't allow such thoughts to fill his mind; not when the doctor had asserted that she was going to be alright.

He studied her again as they continued to drive in silence. He wondered what clouded her mind and whether those thoughts had anything to do with her condition.

"I'm sorry." He saw her mouth move, producing a tired voice. She kept her eyes down.

"Sorry?" He frowned.

"We had to cancel our plans because of me," she explained.

Jack gently placed his hand on her lap, and she jerked in her seat in shock. Awkwardly, he withdrew his hand. "No worries." He smiled to eliminate the awkwardness. "There are a lot of other things that make me happy."

She attempted a smile but couldn't. "Are you sure?"

He softly laughed; it surprised him that she cared about the things which made him happy. "I am sure," he affirmed, then questioned in an intrigued voice, "You're not convinced?"

"No, I am," she asserted with an almost amused smile. She saw the very unconvinced look on his face. "What?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him. "Why are you giving me that look?"

Jack shook his head and said nothing. He didn't have to, because the slowly radiating smile on her lips was all he wanted.

"I'm hungry," she whispered, seemingly to herself and rubbed her flat tummy.

Jack looked at her as he stopped at a red robot and his lips twitched into a smirk. "Well, that's what happens when you don't listen to me," he stated, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

"Listen to — I wasn't hungry that time." She crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

"Okay, okay," he chuckled softly, "Pick a restaurant and we will have lunch."

She shook her head slightly and oddly politely. "I want homemade food."

"Homemade?" Her answer was not what he expected. "You will starve to death by the time it's done," he laughed.

Perli shrugged with a little smile on her lips. "I just want to go home," she simply stated and yawned.

When Jack was about to answer, his phone beeped, then lit with a message popping up on its screen. He noticed David's name.