Rafael's POV
I sat motionless on the ER bed while the nurse dressed my wounded hand, her fingers trembling slightly.
Another scrape had formed over my knuckles, layered on top of the blister that had not fully dried yet.
"You should get this checked by a neurologist if the trembling doesn't stop within the next twelve hours, sir. You might have nerve damage," the nurse said.
I tried to steady it, but shit, my hand kept shaking on its own, weak and involuntary.
"What did you say? He hurt what?"
That sharp, familiar voice made me look up.
She stood there behind the hospital curtain, horror written all over her face as she watched the nurse re-bandage my hand.
The nurse glanced at her, confused. "Are you his guardi—"
"Yes. I am his wife." She stepped forward, her tone firm, edged with worry.
Hearing her declare it so openly sent a warm sting through my chest, tugging a faint smile from my lips.
