When Patricia finished showering, she smelled exactly like me.
The fruit she left on the counter was cut and arranged beautifully; even my favorite Sunny Rose grapes were peeled.
Undoubtedly, it was Ethan’s work.
But I could never eat them again.
Ethan sat on the sofa with his eyes closed,
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his long eyelashes shading his eyes.
Patricia picked up the fruit plate and walked
to Ethan’s side.
“Is your headache acting up again?” She gently touched his forehead and asked softly. “It’s alright,” Ethan replied softly.
Ethan was reserved and never shared his pain with anyone. In the past, I would massage him until he pulled my hand away and kissed the back of my hand.
Patricia only knew that Ethan suffered from
migraines, but she didn’t know what I had done for him.
So, she calmly withdrew her hand and then picked up an apple and offered it to Ethan’s mouth.
“Honey, eat some fruit.” She smiled sweetly.
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Ethan opened his eyes and stared at her
quietly.
“Why are you looking at me?” she asked,
puzzled.
Ethan shook his head, “I’ve already brushed
my teeth, you eat it.”
“Oh.” Patricia sat down next to him and
started eating.
After eating for a while, she didn’t know what
she thought of, held a grape in her mouth,
knelt half–way on the sofa, and leaned
towards Ethan’s lips.
Their lips touched, and Ethan’s eyebrows
moved imperceptibly.
“Open your mouth,” she slightly pulled back,
mumbling indistinctly.
Ethan didn’t move, his deep, obsidian eyes
