You hadn’t left the bed all day.

Your head was pounding, body aching, and even the light filtering through the curtains felt like too much. The kind of sick that made every limb feel too heavy, and even thinking felt exhausting. You barely had the strength to keep your eyes open, but the quiet creak of the bedroom door made you stir.

Then came the soft sound of little feet… and bigger ones right behind.

“Shhh, be quiet, buddy,” Drew whispered from the hallway. “Mommy’s resting.”

“I know,” came the small, quiet voice of Matteo—a little boy of just four, with knees still scraped from playground adventures, but already carrying Drew’s stubborn heart and your soft, sleepy smile.

You blinked your eyes open just in time to see the two of them stepping into the room.

Drew had a tray in his hands, carefully balanced, while Matteo followed right behind like his little shadow, proudly carrying a folded napkin and one of his stuffed animals — “For Mommy,” he had said earlier, his voice full of purpose, as if this small act was the most important mission of his day.

“Hi, sleepyhead,” Drew said with a soft smile. He walked to your side of the bed and slowly set the tray down on the nightstand. Steam curled up from the mug of tea, and the bowl of soup smelled like something warm and homemade — because it was. “We brought reinforcements.”

Matteo beamed as he climbed up beside you and placed the plush dinosaur next to your pillow. “This is Rexy. He’s good at making people feel better.”

You couldn’t help but smile, voice hoarse. “Thank you, baby.”

Drew sat on the edge of the bed, brushing some hair gently from your face. His touch was soft, almost reverent. “You look miserable,” he teased lightly, though his eyes were full of concern. “So we made your favorite. Tea with honey. And the soup’s not amazing, but it’s edible.”

“You cooked?” you asked, eyebrows raising just a little.

“Don’t sound so surprised,” he grinned. “Matteo helped. He stirred the noodles. Sort of.”

“I stirred good,” Matteo announced proudly, snuggling against your side.

Drew chuckled and leaned down, kissing your forehead with the kind of gentleness that made your heart ache a little — not in a bad way, just in that I can’t believe I get to love him kind of way.

“Just rest,” he whispered. “We’ve got everything handled.”

And with Matteo curled against you, soup by your side, and Drew’s fingers laced with yours — the world felt a little softer. Even in your sickness, there was warmth. There was love.

And you wouldn’t trade it for anything.