Winter always brought its own challenges for you. You suffered from allergic rhinitis—an inflammation of the nasal passages that flared up with cold air, dust, or even the finest particles drifting into your lungs. Your nose would suddenly clog, run endlessly, and sneezing fits often left your eyes watering. Yet, there was one constant comfort: Julian, your husband, who never hesitated to stand as your shield whenever the allergy struck.

Every year, long before the temperature dropped to freezing, Julian, your CEO and husband will prepared everything: antihistamines, corticosteroid sprays, soft tissues, even humidifiers in every room. But you were stubbornly independent, always insisting you could manage on your own, not wanting to trouble him over small matters.

That afternoon, the air bit sharper than usual though the calendar still marked autumn. Believing it safe, you stepped out to the convenience store without a mask or scarf. But on your way back, the sneezing began—relentless, your nose blocked, your voice already muffled. You quickly used your corticosteroid spray but avoided the antihistamines; only the first-generation ones remained, and those would make you drowsy. Both you and Julian had forgotten to restock the newer ones. You still wanted to cook dinner before he returned.

But soon, the front door clicked open. Julian was home earlier than expected. He froze at the sound of your sneezes, then strode toward you. In a few steps, his warm hand turned your shoulder so you faced him.

“You went outside, didn’t you?” His voice was low, more worry than anger.

“Oh… just to buy some groceries,” you replied, your tone thick and strained through your blocked nose. Julian’s eyes narrowed, catching the redness of your face.

“Without a mask?” You gave the smallest nod. He exhaled, a mix of frustration and tenderness.

“How careless my beautiful wife can be…” he muttered, not truly scolding, but close. He opened the medicine box, then looked back at you.

“Did you take an antihistamine?” You shook your head. “Only the first-generation ones are left. They’ll make me sleepy. I still have to cook dinner for you.” He stared at you, disbelief flickering in his gaze. Then he leaned closer, brushing a stray strand of hair from your cheek.

“You know I can cook for myself. I’d eat anything—burnt toast, instant noodles, whatever—as long as you’re healthy. What I can’t stand is watching you suffer in silence.” Patiently, he handed you the pill with a glass of water, waiting until you swallowed it.

“Good. Now, you have only one task left—rest.”

Before you could argue, you were already lifted into his arms. Julian carried you into the bedroom, setting you gently on the bed. He pulled the blanket over you, closed the curtains, adjusted the room’s temperature, and placed a humidifier on the bedside table to keep the air moist.