Eva

Raymond continued to surprise me in the most unexpected ways. This evening, he showed up at my apartment, carrying a big shopping bag filled with groceries and household items - things I hadn't even thought about buying the day before. His attention to detail was astounding, and it touched me deeply. He wasn't just showing kindness; he was showing that he truly understood what I needed, even before I had the chance to ask. What really stood out, though, was how he never once pressed me with unnecessary questions about my decision to leave my marriage. He wasn't there to judge or criticize; he simply wanted to be there for me, as a genuine son would, despite not being married to my daughter anymore. His presence was a comfort, a steady reminder that kindness and care could still exist in the most complicated of circumstances.

That evening, he noticed that I wasn't in the best shape. I could feel the heaviness in my chest, the quiet ache that had settled deep inside. Sensing this, Raymond insisted on making dinner for me, urging me to relax on the couch and unwind while he took care of everything. His insistence was gentle but firm, and though I was reluctant to be a burden, I gave in. He made egusi soup with oat fufu - his favorite dish, something I knew he enjoyed. To be honest, I didn't expect much, but to my surprise, it wasn't bad at all. The flavors and seasoning were perfectly balanced, and despite my mounting unease, I managed to eat a small portion.

But even the warmth of the meal couldn't ease the growing discomfort within me, especially after the second phone call from Tessy. It had been nasty -rude and dismissive, as if my emotions were nothing but an afterthought. She had insisted that I return home to her father, claiming that it wasn't right for me to just leave him alone, as though his loneliness was the only thing that mattered. What truly stung was how she emphasized that she wanted me to go back because she believed that I had nowhere else to go. As if my feelings, my mental and emotional well-being, meant nothing. I could feel my blood boiling with every word she spoke. How could she be so blind to what I was going through? How could she reduce everything to her father's needs, completely disregarding mine?

I was furious, but Raymond was there, quietly making dinner, and I knew that if I let my emotions spill over, I'd ruin the moment. I took a deep breath, trying to control the storm inside me. But inside, I was boiling hot. How dare Tessy? How dare she think she could dictate my life, to push me back into a situation that had already broken me? How dare she put her father's welfare above my own emotional health? It was a slap in the face, and yet, I had to swallow my anger, all because I didn't want to burden Raymond, who was, despite everything, showing me more compassion than I had ever expected.

I was just about to get up from the dining table when a sudden bolt of dizziness washed over me. Before I could slump and hit the floor, Raymond was behind me in an instant, his strong arms holding me in place. His reflexes were swift, like a guardian angel ready to catch me when I fell. That was the last thing I remembered before darkness overtook me.

When I woke up, I found myself lying on a hospital bed. The sterile smell of disinfectant filled the air, and the dim hum of machines buzzed faintly in the background. The wall clock caught my eye - it was 6am. I must have been unconscious or sedated for hours. As I stirred, trying to sit up, a nurse appeared at my side, her kind eyes scanning my face as she gently explained what had happened.

"Ma, you were rushed here by your son last night," she began. "Your blood pressure was alarmingly high when the doctor examined you. We had to administer medication immediately to stabilize it and sedate you for rest."

Her words sank in slowly, like water seeping into dry ground. I blinked at her, trying to piece everything together. "Where is he?" I asked weakly.

"Your son? He's in the lobby right now," she answered with a small smile.

"He's been here all night?" I pried, still trying to process the situation.

"Yes, ma. He hasn't left your side since you were brought in," the nurse replied.

I stared at her, stunned. Why was Raymond doing all this for me? He didn't owe me anything - not anymore. And yet, he was here, tirelessly watching over me. Before I could dwell too much on the thought, the door creaked open, and there he was, strolling into the room. His face was etched with worry, his eyes searching mine as if he was checking to make sure I was truly awake.

"You're awake? How do you feel now, Mom?" he asked, his voice soft but laced with concern. He pulled a chair close to the bed and sat by my side, taking my hand in his. His gaze locked onto mine, and I saw something in his eyes that left me speechless - a mixture of care, worry, fear, and something else I couldn't quite name.

"I'm with your phone," he said firmly, breaking the silence. "I won't let you take calls or respond to anything until you're fully recovered. I'm in charge now. I'll take care of you, and you'll only do what I say. Do you hear me, Eva?"

The switch from "Mom" to "Eva" was jarring, his tone authoritative and commanding in a way I hadn't expected. His sudden shift left me reeling, and all I could do was nod. Raymond had always been kind, but this was different. He wasn't just being kind; he was taking control, making it clear that he wasn't going to let me carry the weight of my struggles alone.

As his grip on my hand tightened slightly, I couldn't help but feel a strange mix of gratitude and bewilderment. Why was he doing all this? Why did he care so deeply? The questions swirled in my mind, but for now, I was too overwhelmed to ask. All I knew was that Raymond had once again caught me when I was at my weakest, and in that moment, I felt safe.

During the three days I was admitted, Raymond never left my side. He was present when the doctor came to discuss a new management plan for my hypertension which wasn't news to him. He knew about my battles with the silent killer while he was still married to my daughter. Ray assured the doctor that his prescription and instructions would strictly be adhered to. His unwavering presence was a constant comfort, a quiet assurance that I was not alone in my struggles. He only stepped away twice - both times to shower and change - each time leaving me in the capable hands of the nurse he had tipped generously. The nurse's attentiveness and care reflected his thoughtfulness, as if he had orchestrated every detail to ensure I was well taken care of, even in his brief absences.

Raymond's devotion to me was boundless, and it left me both humbled and amazed. He had no obligation to stay, yet he did so with a quiet determination that spoke volumes about the kind of man he was. He didn't just hover around for appearances; he was there for me, truly there, ensuring I had everything I needed and shielding me from unnecessary stress.

As I lay in that hospital bed, watching him fuss over small details like adjusting my blanket or reminding the nurse to check my vitals, something within me began to shift. His selflessness lit a spark of resolve deep inside me. I realized that while he was here to support me, I could not allow myself to remain stuck in this pit of despair and helplessness. I made a silent vow to myself that night: I would snap out of the mire of self-pity and stand strong on my own feet again. I owed it to myself, to him, and to the life that I still had ahead of me. Raymond's care had shown me that I was worth fighting for, and it was time to rise above my pain and take charge of my life once more.