It Ended For A Beetroot.

     "You need to eat healthy to heal quicker, honey." A hoarse voice whispered into Mrs. Rose's ear and she shuddered. 

Pulling the blanket up to her nose, she turned to find warm grey eyes penetrating into hers; the kind of grey that made her want to walk down the aisle and chant her wedding vows at that instant.

    He offered his arms, and she clung onto them to push her body upwards. A natural blush flushed over her entire face when he stretched his lips to smile, giving way to an adorable dimple on his square chin.

    "If the hospital sends such beautiful men to serve then, I wish to be sick every day." Mrs. Rose giggled at her thought.

    Mrs. Rose's gaze suddenly stopped at the wedding ring in her hand. Her eyes widened, and her heart skipped a beat. She was confused.

    He noticed the uneasiness on her face and leaned over to stamp a tender kiss on her forehead.

    Her eyelids were shut tight as she devoured the touch of his lips, almost malleable against her skin. A deep breath followed, and she digged her hand beneath the blanket to remove the ring.

    His touch made her ease. Or deceive.

    Mrs. Rose eyed the food trolley beside him and craned her neck to find a bowl of beetroot soup. "Damn." She muttered and rolled her eyes.

    He hovered a spoon near her mouth. "Here, sweetie."

    A foul smell tingled her nostrils, and she abruptly yanked his hand. "I don't want to."

    "I know you're still upset with me. But it wasn't my fault." His hands trailed over arms and he sobbed a little.

    She couldn't bear to see him shedding tears; afraid he'd get dark eyebags and afterall it was  solely the hospital's fault to send such foul-smelling soup. 

    "I know it's not your fault." She consoled him meanwhile, wishing he wouldn't notice the mark of the ring on her finger.

    All at once, he cupped her hands into his as he if he was pleading for something. "I know you'd understand. It was all Katie's fault; she tried to kiss me while I was drunk." He announced, appearing nervous- obvious with his words stuttering.

    "But-"

    "Rose, dear, when you fainted after seeing us. I was so terrified."

    He buried his head into her lap, apologising, and she found her hands involuntarily stroking his charcoal-black hair. She was dumbfounded; struggling to find how exactly to react to his words.

    He was a stranger and his words too, yet familiarism evolved.

    They were interrupted with a bang on the door. "Mr. Wilson?" The nurse chimed in with a stack of files and stood rigid before him.

    "Your wife has short-term memory loss; she hit her head hard."

    "And, he is your husband, Mrs. Rose. Do you remember?" She added, turning towards her.

    Mr. Wilson covered his mouth with both his hands, regretting what he confessed earlier. And Mrs. Rose laid against the headboard with a thud.

    "What?!" 

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