A Sick Romance
Felix continued to try and repair our relationship, much like the sunflowers he’d plant every time we moved to a new place.
“Felicity, it’s going to get better. Once you’re well, I’ll take you back home, plant the sunflowers you love, and we’ll paint together again,” he promised.
I glanced down at my hand, still immobile. Could I even paint anymore?
Felix, sensing my doubt, spoke again with unwavering determination, “It will get better. I’ll make you well, and I’ll make those who hurt you pay for what they did.”