CHAPTER 27: THE MORNING AFTER

Xitllali

My neck ached.

I slowly opened my eyes, blinking against the pale gray light coming through the bedroom window. For a moment, I couldn't remember where I was. My back was stiff, and my legs felt numb from sleeping in the hard wooden chair all night.

Then I felt the warm, heavy hand still wrapped around my wrist.

Everything came rushing back. The mud. The blood soaking through Guillermo's shirt. The fear of losing him.

I held my breath and leaned closer to the bed. His chest rose and fell in a slow, steady rhythm. The rough breathing from last night was gone. I carefully reached out with my hand and pressed the back of my fingers against his forehead.

His skin was cool. The fever had finally broken.

Relief washed over me so strongly that my eyes filled with tears. I closed them and let out a long, shaky breath.

I gently slipped my wrist out of his hand. He didn't wake up, but he shifted slightly and let out a quiet groan.

I stood up carefully and went to the bathroom and I filled a small plastic bowl with warm water, picked up a clean white cloth and a bar of soap, then returned to his bedside.

I sat down again, dipped the cloth into the water, and wrung it out.

Gently, I wiped the dried dirt from his face. I cleaned his forehead, cheeks, and jaw. He looked so tired. Dark circles had formed under his closed eyes.

I moved down to his neck, carefully cleaning away the dried blood.

Then I washed his right arm and chest, making sure not to get any water near the thick bandages on his left shoulder.

My fingers brushed against the scars on his ribs. They were the new scars he'd gotten while trying to protect my family during the two years I had spent hiding from him.

Suddenly, his right hand reached up. His rough fingers gently closed around my wrist, stopping me from moving the cloth.

I gasped softly and looked up.

He was awake. His dark hazel eyes were fixed on my face. He looked tired, but his eyes were clear.

"You stayed," he whispered. His voice was rough.

"I couldn't go anywhere even if I wanted to. You were holding my wrist, and I didn't want to wake you by pulling away," I said softly.

It was a lie. The truth was that I had been too afraid to leave his side.

He didn't argue. He simply looked down at my hand, his thumb slowly moving over my wrist.

It was such a small gesture, but it still made my stomach flutter.

"You need water," I told him and gently pulled my hand away.

I poured water from the pitcher on the nightstand into a glass. Then I carefully placed my hand behind his right shoulder and helped him lift his head enough to drink. He finished the whole glass in slow, thirsty gulps.

"Lie back down," I whispered, helping him settle against the pillows. "I'll be right back."

I left the bedroom and walked down the hallway to the kitchen. The smell of warm food filled the air. Valdo stood beside the small gas stove, stirring a metal pot.

His clothes were still covered in dried mud, and his eyes were red from what looked like a sleepless night on guard duty.

He looked up when I entered and immediately turned off the stove.

"Good morning, Señora. How is he?" he asked, his voice low and serious.

"His fever has gone down," I replied, folding my arms across my chest to keep warm. "He's awake now."

Relief crossed his face. He picked up a ceramic bowl and poured some hot broth into it.

"I found some canned chicken broth in the pantry," he said, handing me the bowl and a spoon. "He needs to eat something. You should eat too, Señora."

He paused for a moment. His eyes fell on my hands, where faint traces of dirt and dried blood still remained around my fingernails. Then he looked back at me, his expression serious.

"You saved his life on the ridge yesterday, Señora," he said quietly. "Thank you."

I swallowed hard. The memory of pulling the trigger made my stomach twist. I didn't know what to say, so I simply nodded, took the bowl, and returned to the bedroom.

Guillermo had managed to raise himself slightly against the headboard, but his face was tight with pain. Even that small movement had left him breathing heavily.

"What are you doing?" I asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. "The doctor said you have to stay flat."

"I hate lying on my back," he muttered through clenched teeth, but he didn't try to sit up any further.

I blew on the hot broth before carefully bringing a spoonful to his mouth. He took it without complaining.

He didn't try to act tough or push my hand away. He simply let me care for him, his dark eyes never leaving my face.

We sat quietly as I fed him, with only the sound of rain falling against the cabin roof around us. For the first time in years, I felt safe beside him.

Before I could give him the last spoonful, I heard heavy footsteps coming down the hallway.

Three sharp knocks sounded at the door, and Valdo stepped inside.