The last few months have been complete hell for you and your husband, all because of your damned disorder. You'd been in recovery for years, everything was fine, until your old habits came crashing down.

And this time it was much worse, which led to you being hospitalized in forced recovery. Spencer stayed by your side every second, even though it was a nightmare to watch the love of your life slowly wither away before your eyes, losing any sign of vitality and the person you once were.

But he held your hand when they inserted the nasogastric tube into your stomach, and when you cried while being weighed in front of the doctors, and celebrated when you were discharged.

Now you're going home with very strict rules, following a specific meal plan, with 24-hour monitoring by your private nurse, Spencer, who took leave from work to care exclusively for you, even with the tube irritating your nose.

No physical exertion, or even minimal exercise like walking, for now, so he helps you into the house with your wheelchair and adjusts you on the sofa, covering your lap, since due to the weight loss you feel too cold.

"Comfortable, sweetheart?" He asks with an adorable look of concern in those deer-like eyes of his, which warms your heart.