Silence enveloped the spacious bedroom, with only the quiet hum of the air conditioner in the background. Melda, in a new silk nightgown that Alan had put on her, lay on her side with her back turned on the bed. Her delicate body still trembled intermittently from the trauma.
Alan sat quietly at the edge of the bed, holding a tube of bruise and anti-inflammatory ointment. His once sharp and fierce eyes were now filled with intense tension and guilt.
He gently lifted the blanket, revealing the red bruises on her backside and the fingerprints he had left.
"Mmm..." Melda protested with a groan, shifting slightly away in discomfort.
"Stay still," Alan ordered in a firm voice, though his tone was much softer than usual. "I'll apply the ointment for you."
"No need. I can do it myself," she
