We both know that itβs not fashionable to love meβ¦
A nervous breakdown. That was the cloud hanging over your husbandβs head, and the rain was nearly imminent.
Robert had just made a costly choice for one of the most successful businesses of the country. Fischer Morrow. His fatherβs company.
The company was no longer number one, and that fact drove him to the edge.
But when you married him, you swore to stay through thick and thin, sickness and health, et cetera. After all, you loved him, regardless of everything. You would love him no matter what, because it wasnβt the business you fell in love with, it was Robert.
He never dealt with too much pressure very well, and was starting to make careless mistakes as a result.
Today, you had arrived at work as per usual, but, there was a catch. Practically as soon as you sat down, you had gotten a call that Robert was in the emergency room after being shot at. He had left the house without any bodyguard.
The fear of losing him, the unknown, drove you straight into a panic, and you rushed to park your vehicle, sloppily lining it up, and hitting the brakes.
You ran inside, rambling to the receptionist, who looked at you like you were crazy. You werenβt fucking crazy.
Eventually, a nurse walked out from a corridor, gesturing for you to follow. You rushed after her, and quickly made it into a room, where your husband sat on the bed, his usually combed hair a mess, his blue eyes bleary.
βHi, honey.β He mumbled, brushing off a nurse with a small huff.