Chapter 162
Andrew stood to the side and cleared his throat lightly: "Mr. Smith, good to see you awake. Sophia stayed up all night watching over you. She just went to rest a moment ago."
"Let Sophia go back. I'll take care of you."
James looked at Andrew, his tone sincere: "I owe you big time for this. I can't impose on you any further. You should head back. I don't need anyone watching over me here."
Andrew agreed, "Sophia, do you want to come along? I can give you a ride back."
I nodded.
"Sophia."
I turned around: "What is it?"
"Will you come see me again tomorrow?"
"Of course."
James smiled: "Good, then go home and get some rest."
"Oh, can I have some soup you make tomorrow?"
I didn't say anything.
To capture a man's heart, first capture his stomach.
I used to take cooking classes just to please James.
Every time James drank, I would make him stomach-soothing food.
Those dishes took enormous time and effort - they not only looked good but tasted amazing too.
Too bad none of it ever made it into James's stomach.
He either threw it in the trash or gave it to his staff.
James looked down: "It's okay if you don't want to."
"What kind of soup do you want?"
James's eyes lit up instantly: "I'll love any soup you make."
I nodded.
The next day, I brought soup I'd made myself.
I ladled out the soup and brought it to him. James raised his hand and sucked in a sharp breath: "My hand, it hurts so much."
I immediately put down the soup to check his injury: "Did you pull at the wound? Let me see."
James covered his wound: "Better not look, I'm afraid it'll scare you."
He insisted so firmly and refused to let me see that I had to give up.
"Should I call the doctor to check on you?"
"It's fine, I probably just pulled at the wound by accident." He looked longingly at the soup I'd set aside, "What a shame, I can't drink this delicious soup now."
I got it.
James wanted me to feed him.
He wanted me to feed him but wouldn't say it directly, making all these excuses instead.
Considering he got injured because of me, I picked up the bowl and fed him the soup.
The corners of James's mouth lifted high.
"When can I leave the hospital?" James asked.
"The doctor said you need to be observed for a week, and only if you recover well can you be discharged." I fed him from the chair by the bed. "Don't be so anxious about leaving. If you don't heal properly, it'll cause problems later."
He smiled: "Okay, I'll listen to you."
Over the next few days, James's recovery went pretty well.
The wound didn't get infected, and his appetite gradually improved.
But what gave me a headache was that he became more and more "clingy."
"Sophia, I want some water." He looked at me pleadingly.
I poured water and handed it to him, but he didn't take it: "My hand has no strength, I can't hold it."
I had to bring the cup to his lips.
"Sophia, the porridge is too hot." He frowned.
I blew on it to cool it and fed him.
"Sophia, I want to wipe my face." He looked innocent.
I wrung out a towel and wiped his face.
"Sophia..."
"James." I finally couldn't take it anymore. "Your shoulder is injured, not your hand broken. And the doctor said your injury is healing well, you can totally eat and drink by yourself."
He blinked, his expression immediately turning pitiful: "But whenever I move, the wound hurts... really, it hurts a lot."
I knew he was acting.
The doctor clearly said during rounds yesterday that as long as his movements weren't too big, normal activity was fine.
But looking at his bandaged shoulder and pale face, I softened.
"Just for today." I gave in. "Starting tomorrow, you do it yourself."
"Okay." He agreed quickly, the corners of his mouth secretly lifting.
In the afternoon, the nurse came to change the dressing.
When she unwrapped the bandage, I saw the wound on his shoulder.
Two nasty holes, over a dozen stitches, with bruising all around.
I gasped.
"Scared?" James asked softly.
He sighed: "I told you not to look, but you insisted."
I shook my head, but my eyes still reddened.
"It's okay, it doesn't hurt." He comforted me instead.
After the nurse changed the dressing and left, the room fell quiet again.
"Sophia." James suddenly spoke. "While I'm in the hospital, can you stay with me the whole time?"
I paused: "But there's a caregiver, right? And Grandma and Liliana visit often..."
"But I want you." He looked at me, his gaze honest and direct. "I know this request is selfish, but right now, whenever I can't see you, I get anxious..."
"Once I'm discharged, whether you go back abroad or wherever, I absolutely won't stop you." He added, his tone almost pleading.
Looking at the wound on his shoulder, thinking about how he took that bullet for me, I couldn't bring myself to refuse.
"I was supposed to go back after the project ended anyway," I said quietly.
"Just postpone it a few days, okay?" He reached out and gently tugged at my sleeve. "Wait until I'm a bit better and can take care of myself, then you can leave. I promise I absolutely won't bother you."
After all, he got injured saving me. Since I owe this debt, naturally, I should repay it.
"One week." I finally said. "I'll stay one more week. After a week, whether you're better or not, I'm leaving."
His eyes brightened: "Okay, one week it is."
That week, I spent almost the whole day at the hospital.
Feeding him, helping him wash up. We talked a lot, but never about us, carefully avoiding all those past events.
Sometimes I'd feel dazed, like we'd gone back to how we were before marriage.
Actually, he was pretty good to me back then, but unfortunately...
The week passed quickly.
James's wound healed well, and he could get out of bed and move around on his own.
"You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?" he said to me at dinner.
"I've been here a long time already. There's a pile of work at the studio. If I don't go back and deal with it, things will fall apart."
"Can I see you off tomorrow?"
"Your injury just healed..."
He interrupted me: "Sophia, just let me see you off one last time, okay?"
He used the words "one last time," making my heart ache.
I don't know if it's because we've spent so much time together lately, but now I can't seem to stay indifferent toward him.
"Alright." I gave in.
The next morning, James finished his examination.
The doctor said he'd recovered well and could be discharged, but warned him not to lift heavy objects for a month and to come for regular checkups.
After completing the discharge procedures, he changed out of the hospital gown into a white shirt and jeans.
He rarely dressed like this. It gave him a more youthful look.
Seeing him like this, I seemed to see the teenage him again. Back then, he really was a good brother, very caring, very good to me.
Sometimes I often wonder, if that misunderstanding hadn't happened and we'd maintained our sibling relationship, would everything today be different?
But I also know very clearly that it wouldn't be.
Because back then I really, really loved James.
Even if that incident hadn't happened, I would have used every means to get close to him, to stand beside him as an equal.
I just don't know what our ending would have been if I'd done it that way.