Chapter 98

The hospital room smelled faintly of antiseptic and something overly clean-too clean for comfort. Jennie hated it.

She lay on the bed, bundled in a thin blanket despite the warm air, her face slightly flushed and her usually sharp eyes dulled with exhaustion. The IV drip beside her clicked softly, a steady reminder that she wasn’t anywhere else but here-stuck, weak, and very much not in control.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Jennie mumbled, her voice hoarse.

Lisa, sitting far too close for someone who had been told multiple times to “stay calm,” leaned forward with a dramatic gasp. “Like what? I’m just looking at my very sick, very dramatic wife.”

“I am not dramatic,” Jennie shot back weakly, though her pout said otherwise.

Lisa’s lips twitched. “You asked the nurse if you were dying five times.”

“I was checking.”

“You asked if you should start writing a will.”

Jennie turned her head away. “That was reasonable.”

Lisa couldn’t help it-she laughed. Not loudly, but enough that Jennie whipped her head back, glaring.

“You’re laughing at me while I’m suffering,” Jennie accused, pointing a weak finger.

Lisa immediately straightened, grabbing Jennie’s hand and cradling it like it was the most precious thing in the world. “No, no. I would never. I’m just… appreciating that even with dengue, you’re still this dramatic.”

Jennie tried to pull her hand away, but Lisa tightened her grip, softer this time.

“Hey,” Lisa said gently, her tone shifting. “You’re okay. The doctor said it’s manageable. You just need rest.”

Jennie’s expression softened, just a little. “I hate being here.”

“I know,” Lisa murmured. “I hate you being here too.”

There was a brief pause, quieter this time. The kind that didn’t feel heavy, just… real.

And then-

“Do you want water?” Lisa suddenly asked, jumping up before Jennie could answer.

“I-Lisa-“

Too late.

Lisa had already grabbed the pitcher, poured water into a cup, grabbed a straw, adjusted the pillow, and nearly knocked over the IV stand in the process.

“Careful!” Jennie hissed.

“I am careful!” Lisa insisted-while bumping into the side table.

Jennie stared at her.

Lisa froze.

“…Okay, minor miscalculation.”

“Sit down,” Jennie sighed, though there was the smallest hint of a smile.

Lisa did not sit down.

Instead, she hovered.

Hovering Lisa was worse than chaotic Lisa.

“Do you need anything else? Food? Ice? Blanket? Another blanket? Two blankets? I can ask for soup-no, wait, is soup okay? What if it’s not okay? I should Google-“

“Lisa.”

“Yes?”

“Sit.”

Lisa immediately sat.

Silence.

“…Do you want soup?” Lisa whispered.

Jennie groaned, covering her face with her hands. “You’re impossible.”

“I’m concerned.”

“You’re chaotic.”

“I’m lovingly chaotic.”

Jennie peeked through her fingers, meeting Lisa’s eyes-and there it was. That familiar warmth. That softness Lisa always had when it came to her.

“…Fine,” Jennie muttered. “You can be here.”

Lisa gasped dramatically. “What an honor.”

Jennie rolled her eyes, but she didn’t let go of Lisa’s hand.

–

An hour later, things got worse.

Not for Jennie.

For the hospital staff.

Lisa had somehow convinced herself that she needed to “help” more.

Which led to-

“Why are you holding that?” Jennie asked, blinking slowly.

Lisa proudly held up a thermometer. “I’m monitoring your temperature.”

“The nurse already did that.”

“Yes, but what if it changes?”

“In five minutes?”

Lisa hesitated. “…It could.”

Jennie stared.

Lisa slowly lowered the thermometer.

“…Okay, maybe not.”

A knock came from the door, and a nurse stepped in, pausing at the sight of Lisa hovering over Jennie like an overly protective bodyguard.

“Everything okay here?” the nurse asked carefully.

“Yes!” Lisa answered too quickly.

Jennie pointed at her. “No.”

The nurse smiled knowingly.

“Ma’am,” she said gently to Lisa, “you can relax. She just needs rest.”

Lisa nodded.

Then followed the nurse around anyway.

Jennie watched, utterly unimpressed, as Lisa asked at least seven questions in under two minutes.

“Is this normal?”
“Should she be sweating?”
“What if she stops sweating?”
“Is water enough?”
“Should I feed her?”
“Can I stay overnight?”
“I’m staying overnight.”

Jennie buried her face in her pillow.

The nurse, clearly experienced, nodded calmly. “Yes, you can stay. Just try not to stress her.”

Lisa turned to Jennie with a proud smile.

Jennie looked up. “You are the stress.”

Lisa clutched her chest. “That hurts.”

“Good.”

–

Night came slower than Jennie expected.

The hospital grew quieter, the lights dimmer, and for once… Lisa stopped moving.

Jennie blinked, turning her head slightly.

Lisa was slumped in the chair beside the bed, her head resting awkwardly on the mattress, still holding Jennie’s hand.

Her breathing was soft. Peaceful.

Finally asleep.

Jennie stared at her for a moment.

“…Idiot,” she whispered, though there was no bite to it.

Carefully, despite her weakness, Jennie shifted slightly and adjusted the blanket, tugging it over Lisa’s shoulders as best as she could.

Lisa stirred, mumbling something incoherent.

Jennie froze.

“…No more soup…” Lisa muttered in her sleep.

Jennie snorted quietly.

Of course.

Her fingers tightened slightly around Lisa’s hand.

“You’re too much,” Jennie murmured softly.

There was a pause.

Then, quieter-

“…but I’m glad you’re here.”

Lisa didn’t wake.

But her grip tightened just a little, like she heard anyway.

And in that quiet hospital room, with machines softly humming and the chaos finally resting, Jennie let her eyes close too-just for a moment-feeling a little less alone, and a lot more loved.