Disaster began in the kitchen. Althea had never made porridge before, but how hard could it be? Water. Rice. Heat. Stir. Done. She stared at the pot in front of her. It looked like regret.
The rice had clumped together in a way that felt both unnatural and vaguely alive. She stirred, hoping it would magically loosen. It did not. It hissed. Or maybe that was steam. Either way, the porridge had achieved the consistency of glue, and the aroma of hospital food filtered through despair.
Max shuffled into the kitchen, wrapped in a blanket like a disoriented burrito. His hair stuck out in angles that defied physics. One sock. One slipper. Eyes at half-mast.
"What... are you doing?" he croaked.
"Making porridge," she said. "For your weak, traitorous immune system."
He blinked at the pot. Then back at her. "That porridge looks like you."
"It's nutritious," she said.
"It's ominous."
She shoved a glass of water into his hand. "Sit. Drink. Don't talk."
Max obeyed. Mostly because he lacked the energy to rebel. Althea dumped the porridge into a bowl with a slosh that felt deeply personal. Max stared at it. Then at her.
"Did I wrong you in a past life?"
"Eat it," she ordered.
"I'm... not hungry."
"I spent thirty minutes coaxing this rice into submission. You're eating it."
He lifted the spoon like a condemned man. Took a bite. Paused. Chewed slowly.
His face went blank. "I can taste all four of my regrets."
Althea crossed her arms. "It's not that bad."
He took another bite. "I think it's trying to bond with my molars."
She grabbed the spoon from him. "Fine. You're banned from porridge. I'll make soup."
"Soup sounds suspiciously like more disappointment."
The rest of the day unfolded like a fever dream. Althea tried to keep Max in bed, but he insisted on roaming around like a dramatic Victorian ghost, blanket draped over his shoulders and all. At one point, he stood by the window and sighed, "I wonder if the crows know I'm dying."
"You have a fever, not tuberculosis."
He coughed dramatically. "It feels poetic."
"You're wearing socks with apples on them."
Max fell asleep twice in the middle of her trying to feed him soup, once slumping forward and nearly headbutting the bowl.
Later, while Althea tried to fluff his pillow, he mistook her hand for the TV remote and tried to change the channel.
"You're delirious."
"You're bossy."
"You're insufferable."
He grinned weakly. "Yet here you are."
And there she was. The entire day, she stayed. Adjusted his blanket. Brushed his hair back. Pressed a cold compress to his forehead every few hours and muttered insults under her breath like prayers. Made terrible soup and worse tea. Googled "how to hide betrayal while nursing your husband, erm random man."
She never mentioned the laptop. Never brought up the document. Never asked him if he was part of the surveillance.
And Max never asked why her eyes looked a little colder than usual. Why her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. Why she kept checking her phone like she wanted a reason to run.
By late evening, Max was breathing more easily. The fever had dipped, finally. He lay on the couch, head resting on a cushion Althea had arranged for him with all the tenderness of a grudge held gently.
Althea sat on the armrest, absently scrolling her phone.
Max looked up at her, voice low. "Hey."
She didn't look at him. "Yeah?"
He hesitated. "Are you... okay?"
"Sure."
"You've been quiet."
"I'm tired."
"Of taking care of me?"
"No, Of a lot of things."
He nodded slowly.
Then, quietly, "You looked into my laptop, didn't you?"
Her fingers froze.
She didn't respond. Althea still didn't look at him. Her throat felt tight.
"It's not what you think it is, Althea." he added.
She finally looked down. Her voice was sharp, too sharp. "Okay." She stared at him for a long time, then got up.
"I'll get you more tea." She walked to the kitchen, blinking too fast, her chest full of unsaid things. And Max stayed on the couch, eyes open now, no longer fevered, just hurting. Quiet. Watching her disappear into another room again, like he always did whenever he said too much, and she felt too much.
And for the first time all day, he didn't call after her.
End of Chapter 35.