I was in the room, clutching the sheets, looking down. He cared for my Father when I.. didn’t. It pinched me. Failing to look up, I was growling internally.
“Saafia…?”
Calling me hesitantly, the door opened and he entered and for the first time after our marriage, he sat on the bed with me.
Tensing, I looked up at him timidly. He unexpectedly flashed a tender look and leaned forward, staring intensely which made my heart skip a beat.
“What happened?” He whispered.
Lowering my gaze in dejection, I curled my lips upwards hollowly.
“He won’t return, he won’t come back to us, to me.” I whispered back, lifting my knees and hugging them.
“Why are you saying this without trying? Don’t you want your father to recover?” He questioned, tilting his head, plopping on his elbow.
“I do.. But.
