Clyde's IV line had already been removed, and the faint indentation from the tape still marked the pale skin on the back of his hand. He flexed his fingers slowly then adjusted the mask on his face. Aside from a lingering exhaustion that made his eyelids droop every now and then and a dry cough that came in quiet, suppressed bursts, his cold no longer showed much. His breathing was steady and his fever was gone. He stood in the hospital lobby, waiting for Micah.
The Ramsy family, no matter how unwilling, could not remain stationed at the hospital every hour of the day. Responsibilities waited outside those sterile white walls, and even devotion had to give way to reality. After a long discussion filled with low voices and worried glances toward Zhou Ruyan's room, they worked out a careful rotation. Each person would take turns staying so that she would never wake to an empty room, never feel abandoned even for a moment. It was a system born from love and guilt.
