A week passed by and with her regularly scheduled medicine, Waverly began to feel more like herself. On occasion, she would get a migraine, but otherwise, was able to walk and was easing back into her normal routine. She readied herself for the day and looked at the picture she had painted for Sawyer hanging above the fireplace in their bedroom. Waverly smiled to herself and closed the door behind her as she exited before heading downstairs to the entry.
Grabbing her coat from the closet, Waverly stepped inside and reached to the back, taking a hold of a pair of old boots. She tossed both items on and shut the door.
“Where are you going?” Sawyer asked, entering from the living room. His eyes were fixated on the tablet in his hand.
“Ch*ist,” Waverly jumped, her hand falling to her heart. “The last thing I need is a heart attack.”