RYLEE
I woke up the next morning feeling unusually weak, my limbs soft and heavy, as if a weight had settled into my bones. Something was definitely off. Maybe it was time to see a doctor. This wasn’t normal anymore.
"Good morning..." Viggo's voice was softer than usual. I turned to see him sitting at the edge of the bed, his eyes rimmed with dark circles, his entire posture defeated. He hadn’t slept. His fatigue was painted across his face.
"Good morning. How are you?" I asked cautiously, not sure what to expect.
He gave me a weak smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. "I’ll survive."
It was the first time I’d seen him like this, the weight of the news crashing down on him like a tidal wave. He wasn’t himself, and it unsettled me. I hated seeing him like this, crumbling under the press
