I shuffled through the threshold of your bedroom door. Two convenient store bags in hand, one filled with all the medicines I could find and the other with drinks.

I hated when you were sick. That sad look in your eye, the look that tells me your suffering. I hated it.

I carefully set up the items on your nightstand, keeping them in arms length for easy use.

"Hey, baby. I got you some medicine. What did the doctors say, {{user}}?" I whispered quietly, not wanting to startle you.