By five that evening, even sitting upright felt like a battle against gravity.
I’d spent most of the day buried beneath two blankets, sweating through my T-shirt while shivering at the same time. My throat hurt whenever I swallowed, so I drank lukewarm water and tried not to move more than necessary.
I had a fever of 102 degrees.
And I was exhausted.
Nathan had wanted to stay home that morning.
“Yoli, I’m serious. I can call in.”
“You have that quarterly meeting.”
“I also have a wife with a fever.”
“I have medicine, water, and a TV remote. Go.”
Nathan leaned down and kissed my forehead.
“Stay in bed.”
“I plan to,” I said weakly.
“And order dinner.”
“I can make something easy.”
“No.”
He pointed toward me with the seriousness of someone issuing an order.
“Don’t even look at the stove.”
I managed a faint laugh.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m serious, Yoli.”
“So am I. Go.”
Before he left, Nathan filled my water bottle, put my medicine within easy reach on the nightstand, and texted the kids to come straight home after school.
He was worried about me.
I knew that.
At 4:30, the kids came through the front door hungry enough to behave as though their teachers had personally starved them for scientific research.
I ordered pasta for them, steak and potatoes for Nathan, and chicken soup for myself.
Then I texted my husband.
Your dinner costs more than my medicine.
His reply came almost immediately.
Worth it. Stay upstairs, Yoli. ❤️
I smiled at my phone.
Ten minutes later, I heard the front door open.
Then came a familiar voice from downstairs.
“Hello?”
Angela.
Nathan’s mother.
She never knocked when she knew we were home.
I hadn’t known she was coming over, and I had no idea why she’d shown up without calling.
A few moments later, she appeared in my bedroom doorway with her purse hanging from one arm.
She looked at me.
Then she looked at the clock on my nightstand.
“It’s five o’clock, Yolanda.”
“Yes.”
“And you’re STILL in bed?”
I stared at her.
“I have a fever, Angela.”
She walked over and lightly touched two fingers to my forehead.
For half a second, I almost appreciated the gesture.
Then she pulled her hand away.
“You always DID get dramatic when you’re sick.”
That was Angela’s particular talent.
