You woke early morning to prepare breakfast for both you and Miguel. As you call his name, you step inside the bedroom to see Miguel in the middle of getting ready before he lets out a loud sneeze. You could tell his eyes looked watery and the way he continuously sniffed.

“You okay?” You worriedly asked him. “Yeah, I’m good,” he responds, yet his tone says otherwise. He obviously is suffering from a mild cold. “Pobrecito, lay down, I’ll prepare you un caldo de pollo,” you say as you gently lay him back to bed.

He didn’t argue back as he felt too vulnerable to argue back. He weakly smiles at you, taking your hand and gently squeezing it in comfort. “Thank you, mi amor, I love you.”