Dear Ex-wife Marry Me

The doctor quickly supported him, "It's alright now. Zoey's got a strong will to live. Just one more month of rest, and she'll be back to her old self." Fitch let out a sigh of relief, tears streaming down his face.

But he didn't feel it, merely pursing his lips twice and hoarsely saying, "Thank you."Ccontent © exclusive by Nô/vel(D)ra/ma.Org.

Sitting by Zoey's hospital bed, he shakily held her hand and pressed it against his cheek.

Her fingertips were a bit cold, his cheeks were cold too, but only by being this close could he feel that she was still there.

Zoey felt as though she had been in a long, long dream, as if she had witnessed someone else's life, a bleak life, a life without attachments.

She felt like an outsider, watching without any emotion.

Then, a light appeared before her, and she slowly opened her eyes, squinting at the bright lights on the ceiling.

She tried to move her hand, only to find it pinned down, immovable.

Turning her head, she immediately saw Fitch tightly holding her hand.

Fitch's suit was wrinkled, his chin covered in stubble, and his eyes red from sleeplessness.

When he saw her wake, his pupils dilated instantly, "Honey, you're awake?"

Zoey just glanced at him, then slowly closed her eyes again.

Fitch immediately called for the doctor to check on her. He then hurried to take a shower, wash his hair, shave, and change clothes before sitting back down by the bed. The doctor breathed a sigh of relief, "Zoey should be waking up soon, Mr. Haskins. You should rest a bit; you haven't slept at all. If you faint, she'll worry about you." But Fitch, as if he hadn't heard, kept holding Zoey's hand.

It seemed only by holding her tightly could he ensure she wouldn't leave.

The way Zoey had looked at him, so indifferent, as if he were a stranger, unsettled him. He worried she might remember something.

He knew he deserved it.

He had been happy these past days, but like a thief, all his happiness felt stolen, always fearing she would remember everything.

It was an unbearable feeling; only in bed, giving his all, burying himself deep, did he feel she wouldn't leave.

In the evening, Zoey woke again. This time, she didn't look at Fitch but stared at the ceiling, silent, lost in thought.

Fitch held her hand, kissing it gently.

"Honey, are you feeling okay? Should I call the doctor?"

Zoey didn't respond, like a doll without a soul.

Fitch grew more anxious,

desperately searching for topics of conversation, but he was never good with words. The only thing that came to mind was Nolan.

"Nolan's been good, visiting you every day, worried sick about you."

At the mention of Nolan, Zoey's eyes flickered slightly.

Fitch held her hand tighter, "He hurt his forehead, keeps getting headaches. He's been calling out for you in his sleep, his eyes swollen from crying."

Fitch pressed her hand against his cheek,

oing to continue talking

about Nolan, but his heart squeezed,

uncontrollably flowing.

In the end, his voice choked up, clutching her hand tightly, burying his face beside the bed as his shoulders began to shake.

His crying was silent, a desperate attempt to hide it, only the shaking of his shoulders revealing his emotion.

Zoey felt her palm wet with tears, warm, scalding.

Her fingertips curled for a moment, her heart throbbing in response.