When I woke up the next morning, I knew something was off.
My head felt heavy, as if filled with lead, and my eyelids were too weighty to lift. My throat was painfully dry, making even swallowing difficult.
I forced my eyes open to find Mom already awake, lying on her side and watching me. Her hand rested gently on my forehead.
"You're a bit warm," she said, her brow furrowed and voice still husky from sleep. "An'an, are you feeling unwell?"
"...Mm," I rasped in response, nuzzling closer into her embrace. "My head hurts, and I have no energy."
Mom immediately sat up, not even bothering to pull up the slipped strap of her nightgown. She pressed the back of her hand against my forehead, then against her own.
"You really have a fever," she said, her tone turning serious. "It must be from all that wind on the rooftop yesterday. So reckless... and now look what happened."
Though she scolded me, her movements never paused. She threw off the covers, slipped on her slippers, and headed to the living room. I heard the sound of her rummaging through the medicine cabinet.
Soon she returned with a thermometer and fever reducers. "Here, let's check your temperature," she said, helping me sit up and lean against her. The cool touch of the thermometer under my arm made me flinch slightly.
Mom patted my back rhythmically, just like she used to when soothing me to sleep as a child.
After five minutes, she retrieved the thermometer and held it up to the light. "38.2°C," she sighed. "You should take the day off and stay home from school."
I nodded, too drained to argue.
She gave me the medicine, then fetched a glass of warm water and watched as I sipped it slowly. After tucking me back under the covers and smoothing the edges, she said, "Rest a while and sweat it out." Brushing the damp hair from my forehead, she added, "I'll go make some congee for you."
"What about the flower shop...?" I mumbled drowsily.
"Not today. We're closing for the day," she stated firmly. "You're sick—I'm not going anywhere."
She bent down and planted a soft kiss on my forehead before quietly leaving the room.
Listening to the sounds from the kitchen—the rinsing of rice, the click of the stove—my heart swelled with warmth.
Mom soon returned with a bowl of congee. The rice was cooked until soft and tender, topped with a sprinkle of pork floss, just the way I liked it. Propping me against her chest, she fed me spoonful by spoonful. Each scoop was carefully blown cool before she brought it to my lips.
"Take it slow," she whispered. "Be careful, it's hot."
As I ate, my eyes stayed fixed on her. The neckline of her nightgown had loosened further from the motion of feeding me, revealing the gentle sway of her full breasts with each breath. Perhaps because of the fever, my body felt unusually sensitive. Just watching her stirred a reaction below.
Mom clearly noticed. With me leaning against her chest, she must have felt the change in my body. Her hand paused mid-scoop, her cheeks flushing slightly as she murmured, "Even when you're sick, you can't behave."
I grinned but said nothing, simply nestling deeper into her arms.
After I finished the congee, Mom had me lie down and went to change. She swapped her nightgown for her usual loungewear—beige knit pants and a loose, light-gray sweater. Yet even dressed so modestly, her curvaceous figure was impossible to conceal.
The sweater curved enticingly over the swell of her chest while fitting snugly at the waist.
After clearing the dishes, she returned to sit by the bed, slipping her hand under the covers to feel my feet.
"Your feet are so cold," she murmured.
With that, she lifted a corner of the quilt and slid in beside me.
Her warm body pressed against mine, carrying her distinctive scent.
Her arm wrapped around my waist while her legs entangled with mine, sandwiching my icy feet between her warm calves.
"Let mom warm you up," she whispered softly.
Enveloped in her embrace, I rested my head against her soft chest.
The fever medicine began taking effect, and drowsiness washed over me in waves.
"Mom..." I mumbled with closed eyes, "Don't get too close... you might catch it..."
"It's fine," she reassured me, gently patting my back. "Mom's strong, not afraid."
Her voice was tender, brushing past my ear like feathers.
I could no longer fight the exhaustion and drifted asleep in her arms.
I slept deeply.
When I woke again, dusk was approaching.
The fever had subsided somewhat—my head hurt less and my body felt lighter.
Mom wasn't in bed.
I could hear faint sounds from the living room.
Getting up, I shuffled out in slippers.
She sat on the sofa with a thin blanket over her legs, reading a book.
A glass of water and medicine sat on the coffee table.
Hearing me, she looked up.
"Awake?" She set the book aside and came over, pressing the back of her hand to my forehead. "Good, much better. Are you hungry? Let me heat some congee for you."
"I can do it," I said, heading toward the kitchen.
"Stay put," she insisted, stopping me. "You're not fully recovered yet. Go sit down."
She guided me to the sofa and pressed me into the seat before going to the kitchen.
I watched her back, the hem of her sweater riding up slightly with her movements, revealing a glimpse of fair skin at her waist.
The congee was quickly warmed, and she had also stir-fried some light vegetables.
We sat facing each other at the dining table. I ate while she rested her chin in her hands, watching me.
"If you're still not feeling well tomorrow, take another day off," she said.
I nodded. "Mom, I'm fine now. What about the flower shop?"
"Closed," she said firmly. "We'll talk after you're better."
Warmth spread through my chest, mingled with guilt.
I knew how important the flower shop was to her—it was her own small business.
"Sorry, Mom..." I said quietly.
"Silly child." She smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. "Business isn't as important as you are. Eat up, then take your medicine again."
For the next two days, Mom cared for me without leaving my side.
The flower shop remained closed, and when calls came, she simply said, "Family matters, closed for a few days."
She prepared various light yet nutritious meals, made sure I took my medicine on time, and held me through the night, warming the bed with her body.
Under her attentive care, I recovered quickly.
By Wednesday morning, my temperature was completely normal.
"Mom, I can go to school today," I said as I put on my uniform.
She came over, felt my forehead once more to confirm the fever was gone, and nodded. "Alright then. Dress warmly—it's chilly outside."
I shouldered my backpack and headed for the door, then turned back to look at her.
She stood there in her loungewear, hair casually tied up, smiling gently at me.
"Mom," I said suddenly, "thank you."
Mom was taken aback for a moment, then her smile deepened. "No need to be so polite with me. Hurry up now, don't be late."
I turned and walked out the door.
That day at school, I felt restless and uneasy.
At noon, I sent Mom a text asking if she had eaten. She replied that she had and told me not to worry.
But during the last class in the afternoon, I received another message from her: "An'an, I think I might be feeling a bit unwell too."
My heart tightened, and I quickly replied, "What's wrong? Do you have a fever?"
"A bit dizzy and weak. Maybe... I really caught it from you."
I practically bolted out of the classroom the moment the bell rang.
When I got home, Mom was curled up on the sofa, wrapped in a thin blanket, her face pale.
"Mom!" I rushed over before even properly taking off my shoes, pressing my hand to her forehead.
Sure enough, it was burning hot.
"I told you..." I was both anxious and frustrated. "I told you not to get close to me, but you insisted on holding me while I slept. Look what happened now!"
Mom gave a weak smile, her voice slightly hoarse. "I was just worried you'd be cold..."
I quickly grabbed the thermometer to check her temperature.
38.5°C—even higher than mine had been.
"Get into bed," I said, helping her up. "Make sure you're covered."
This time, Mom was obedient, letting me take charge.
I tucked her into bed, then went to fetch a glass of warm water and brought the medicine back with me.
"Here, take your medicine," I said, helping her sit up. Just as she had done for me earlier, I brought the pill to her lips.
Mom took the medicine obediently and lay back down.
I looked at her face, flushed with an unnatural redness from the fever, her lips slightly dry.
All my frustration melted away, replaced by a pang of tenderness.
"Are you hungry? What would you like to eat? I'll make it for you," I asked softly.
Mom shook her head. "No appetite... You eat, don't worry about me."
"That won't do," I said, standing up. "I'll make you some ginger tea to help you sweat it out."
Truth be told, I had never made ginger tea before.
But there was no time to hesitate. I pulled out my phone, looked up a recipe, and dove into the kitchen.
While chopping the ginger, I nearly cut my finger.
While boiling the water, I worried I'd added too much, diluting the flavor.
--------------------------------------
Hello guys, do support me in patreon: patreon.com/FloppyQueen
Here you'll have access to 50 chapters.
Your support means a lot to me. Thank you.