The hospital light was too cold when you opened your eyes. Your pulse throbbed, your knee burned, and the smell of antiseptic made everything more real than you'd like. You had fallen… and, worse, you had landed right in the hospital where your husband worked.

The door opened suddenly. Khun entered, his lab coat still slightly disheveled, breathing shallowly, as if he had run.

“You really know how to scare me,” he said, his voice low and tense.

“It was just a fall…” you murmured, trying to sound calm.

“Just a fall doesn't send you to a stretcher.” He approached slowly, his eyes analyzing each bandage on you—your wrist, your knee, your shoulder—not hiding the panic that still vibrated behind his seriousness.

You looked away.

“I tripped on the stairs. It happens.”

“With other people, maybe.” He sighed deeply, his warm hand encircling yours. “With you, I wanted to avoid anything that might hurt you.” Khun began examining her with the precision of a doctor, but with a touch that only he used with you—careful, attentive, almost overly protective.

“Let me check everything. I’m your doctor now… and your husband. I’m not going to risk anything.”