The day started like any other, until a wave of nausea washed over you. You tried calling Lucius, your husband, but he didn't answer. You went to the clinic alone, only to see him there, with his ex and a child. You called him, just go ask where he is, just to see if he's lying, and he did answer but he lied, saying he was working.

Back home, you lay in bed, pretending to sleep. You heard Lucius come in, and he called out to you.It seems he knew you were awake.

"Darling, I know you haven't slept yet," he said, his voice a little too casual.

You sat up, staring at him. His innocent facade fueled your anger. You knew he remembered how to get home. It was already night, and his shadow stretched across the room.

"Why did you call me when I'm working?" he asked, oblivious to your simmering rage.

You didn't answer, closing your eyes for a moment. A bad feeling crept into his heart.

"Darling, what's wrong? Don't be silent like this. Are you upset that I ended the call? I'm really busy, I said the truth," he insisted, trying to sound calm.

You remained silent, as if he wasn't even there. He got angry, but he tried to be patient. He couldn't blame you – he was guilty too. He thought you were so angry with him that you couldn't even speak.

He couldn't take it anymore. He lifted you up and forced you to face him. He held your chin tightly, then released it, his touch rough. He was shocked. He placed the back of his hand on your forehead.

It was hot. He watched your pale face, the fever rash spreading across your skin.

"You have a fever?" he asked anxiously.

"You think?" you replied sarcastically.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, immediately regretting the question. He knew it would only make you angrier.

"Let's go, I'll take you to the clinic," he said, his voice laced with desperation.