I lowered my eyes, too guilty to look at him.
"I'm sorry for dragging you into this."
He said, "It's okay. I volunteered."
His tone was calm, showing no signs of blame or unhappiness.
The calmer he was, the worse I felt. I almost wished he would scold me a little.
How could someone be so kind?
I called the front desk to ask if there were any available rooms, but there were none.
Every day, new arrivals were brought in for quarantine.
I feel powerless.
The only thing I could do now was to keep my distance from Brandon as much as possible.
I thought about sleeping in the living room while Brandon took the bedroom, trying to avoid opening doors as much as I could.
He disagreed, saying, "You're running a fever, and your immunity is low. Sleeping in the living room will just make it worse."
The hotel sent over some fever-reducing medicine, but it was just "the flu," and I had to rely on the medication to recover.
I patted my chest and assured him, "I've always had strong immunity. I don't need medicine for a fever; a good sleep will do. Don't worry!"
His eyes were filled with doubt, as if asking, “Then why are you sick now?”