You set the cool cloth on his forehead, pressing carefully in a circular pattern. He moaned softly at the light pressure, too tired to respond to your gesture. You leaned close when you finished, gently kissing his temple. Placing the towel back on the nightstand next to him, you reached forward to reposition his sheets.

“Rest up,” you said. “Your mother is coming in a few hours to check on you. I think she’s really worried.” He mumbled, voice muffled by the pillow his head rested upon.

“I’m fine.” You pat him on the head, a gesture from which he would normally squirm away.

“Hardly. You’ve been bedridden for a week.” His stress and hardworking attitude took a simple cold and left him nauseous, tired, and entirely in your care. When his weakened stomach was overwhelmed, you lead him to the bathroom and smoothed his hair out of his face. You brought him cool water, lifting the cup slowly to his chapped lips. When his body was too weak to move, you spooned fresh soup into his mouth, talking to keep him company even when he was too sleepy to respond.

Two days ago you drove him to the doctor’s office, waiting patiently while he was prescribed medicine. When his mother heard of the severity of his illness, she insisted you allow her to visit. You obliged with enthusiasm. Perhaps the time he spent sleeping would allow the two of you to become closer, and you knew without a doubt that a visit from his mother would help him.

A knock on the door interrupted your thoughts. You opened it, welcoming his mother with a smile. She nodded back curtly, with an expression you weren’t able to pinpoint.

“Where is he?” You lead her to the bedroom, leaning against the doorframe while she talked to him.

“You look terrible!” She picked up the cloth. “This isn’t going to do any good. Why don’t you have a humidifier in here?” She turned to you, a disapproving expression marking her brow.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know he needed one. I can go to the store if you want?” She shook her head.

“Never mind. I’ll bring one later.” You shrank under her gaze, wandering away to sit alone in the kitchen. An alarm on your phone brought you back to reality. You approached the bedroom cautiously.

“Hey,” you said, leaning close to your boyfriend. “It’s time for your medicine.” You reached over to him, shaking a pill into your palm. His mother grabbed the bottle from your hand, moving between you and your boyfriend.

“What’s this? Why are you giving him this?”

“The doctor…this is what she said to give him.” His mother looked at you politely, but with irritation in her eyes.

“This won’t do. Don’t you have anything else? How can you be so unprepared?” You mumbled another response, desperately afraid of offending her. You walked away once again, and rested your forehead against the wall outside the bedroom. Your ears perked at the sound of conversation.

“Honey, I think you need to come home. She can’t take care of you properly! This is a mother’s job.” You couldn’t make out his words, but they sounded like polite protest. His mother insisted. “I don’t know if she’s right for you. I really think you should come home with me.” Her words hurt you more than you expected. Quietly, you walked into the living room, insulted and hurt by the slew of reasons for disapproval she explained to your boyfriend. Had it been anyone else, you would have shot back with a clever response; anything to avoid submitting to their viciousness. You restrained the temptation, hungry for her acceptance.

Your boyfriend sat up, scanning the room several hours later. He was worried, already missing your attention. Despite his mother’s protests, he stood up and winced at the effort.

You were surprised when you saw him wandering slowly through the hallway.

“What the hell are you doing? Sit down!” You grabbed him around the waist, forcing him onto the sofa. “The doctor said you shouldn’t be walking around, are you crazy?” He pouted, childishly crossing his arms.

“I couldn’t find you,” he mumbled. You sighed, kneeling next to him and brushing his bangs out of his face.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to make your mother angry.” He sighed, reaching forward to pull you into a hug. You stiffened, afraid of hurting his sore ribs, but relaxed into the embrace when he pulled you tighter.

Later that evening his mother motioned for you to follow her into the kitchen. At first you hesitated, but her gentle smile shifted the room’s mood.

“I’m sorry if I came off as vicious,” she said, reaching for your hand. “I was so worried about him, I forgot how much worse he’d be if you weren’t there to care for him.” She paused, reflecting. “He looks so happy when you walk into the room. I’m really glad you’ve been taking such good care of my son.” You smiled happily as she reached forward to hug you. Your boyfriend wandered in, placing his arms around the both of you.

“What are you doing up?” Both you and his mother scolded him, trying to lead him back to the bedroom. He laughed, putting an arm around each of you.

“Calm down,” he said, his voice returning slightly. “I’m feeling better already.”