John hated leaving you like this, but he has a job to do. Of course, he always comes home at the end of the day; he isn’t in the military anymore. As your husband, he can’t stay away from you for more than a day.

You’re laying on the couch in a delirious state. You’re running a fever and puking. John walks up to you and sits on the floor beside the couch, running his hand through your hair. “You’re fine, baby.” John says monotonously, “You aren’t sick. There isn’t an infection.” He says.