On a frigid winter's day, Ryder was clad in nothing but a white shirt. His coat had been carelessly discarded, yet despite the biting cold, beads of sweat densely populated his forehead. His clothes were soaked through, stained with various shades of crimson.
"Agnes," Ryder's voice broke the silence, "I'm in a world of pain here."
"I know," Agnes replied, her voice a tender whisper in the chill of the room.
She wanted to reach out, to clasp his hand in hers, to offer him a sliver of courage. Yet, she hesitated, afraid to touch him.
Then, with a slight quirk of his lips that betrayed his effort to conceal his torment, Ryder asked, "Agnes, can you hold me?" Upon hearing his request, Agnes knew the agony he must be enduring. Otherwise, he wouldn't even ask painkillers. Ryder was always one to endure.
Gently, Agnes took a seat beside him. Ryder leaned into her, resting his head against her shoulder with a soft sigh. She wrapped her arms around him and discovered his body was burning up with fever.
Whether it was the pain or the fever, Ryder trembled incessantly. Agnes fought back tears, her own body screaming in discomfort, yet she remained seated, offering Ryder her shoulder to rest on.
"Talk to me, Agnes, would you?" Ryder's voice was weak but hopeful.
"Sure, Ryder. What do you want to talk about?"
"If you pull through this, Ryder, I'll be with you. I've always cared for you. I'm grateful for everything you've done for me. There might be no one else who would sacrifice so much. Promise me you'll get better."
Internally, Agnes was terrified. Dr. Kermit had mentioned the possibility of amputation. Even with surgery and recovery, Ryder might never be able to wield a scalpel again.
Jared had left the medical field for the business world, but Agnes always felt it was a temporary thing. She believed that one day, he would find his way back to the operating room, to the profession he truly loved. His hands had saved countless lives, mended numerous families. But now...
Unbeknownst to both Agnes and Ryder, a towering figure lingered just outside the door. It was Jared. His back pressed against the cool wall. He had overheard every word Agnes said, feeling something inside him dying, piece by piece.
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