My Bratty Wife

The sun began to rise, painting the sky with hues of soft pink and gold. Doctor Abernathy, his face etched with fatigue, checked Ryan for any signs of complications. He examined the wound, now bandaged and clean, his fingers probing gently, he found no signs of infection or further complications. He listened to Ryan’s breathing, his brow furrowed in concentration. Thankfully it had normalized. His fever had subsided, but Ryan remained unconscious, his body still unresponsive.

Abernathy sighed, a sound of weary concern. Davis, who had been watching the doctor’s every move, asked, his voice trembling, "What is it, Doctor?"

"He must be in so much pain," Abernathy replied, his voice low and grave, "that his body doesn’t want to wake up."

Davis’s eyes widened, fear gripping his heart. "Will he wake up?" he asked, his heart pounding in his chest.

Abernathy placed a reassuring hand on Davis’s shoulder. "Of course he will," he said, his voice firm. "But he needs time. Take care of him. If there are any problems, notify me immediately." He gathered his medical bag and prepared to leave.

Davis nodded, his gaze fixed on Ryan’s still form. "I will," he promised. He escorted the doctor out of the room and down the stairs, his footsteps heavy.

As he closed the heavy main entrance door, he found himself surrounded by the anxious faces of the castle staff. Mrs. Madelyn, her eyes red and swollen, was sobbing uncontrollably.

"What did they do to him?" she cried, her voice breaking with grief. "I heard his screams. I heard his pain. The mother in me wanted to break down that door and save him." She looked at Davis, her eyes pleading. "Tell me he’s not going to die. Please tell me he survived." Fresh tears streamed down her face.

Davis, his own heart aching, held Mrs. Madelyn close, comforting her as best he could. "He’s going to be alright, Mrs. Madelyn," he reassured her, his voice gentle. "He’s just sleeping. He needs his rest."