The doctor finished administering Frost's IV and instructed me to keep a close watch on her.
I nodded absentmindedly, watching them leave the hospital room.
Frost, usually so poised and proud, now seemed like a completely different person.
She leaned back in the hospital bed, gazing at me with tear-filled eyes, occasionally letting out soft, incoherent murmurs.
"Zeke, Zeke..."
Her repeated calls made my head throb.
Left with no choice, I took her hand, feigning composure as I tried to soothe her.
"I'm here. Take your time if you need to tell me something. Don't rush."
The doctor told me Frost was suffering from severe post-traumatic stress disorder.
Her brain, in an act of self-protection, had temporarily blocked out memory fragments that conflicted with reality.
But who was this "husband" she kept muttering about?
The more I tried to recall, the more tangled my thoughts became.
To avoid any misunderstandings, I decided to hire a full-time caregiver for Frost.