Enoch wheeled himself back into his room, only to find Drusilla already nestled in bed. She'd shrugged off her coat and kicked off her shoes, lying there in a kind of defeated heap.
Enoch, still in his wheelchair, eyed her curled-up form and asked, "You want to sleep already?"
Without lifting her head, her voice muffled by the blankets, she murmured, "Yeah, not feeling too well. Thought I'd try to sleep it off."
She was genuinely unwell. A flood of unpleasant memories washed over her.
Drusilla lay under the covers, her head pounding fiercely.
Enoch wheeled closer to the bed, eyeing the lump under the blankets. "What's wrong?"
"Everything hurts."
Frowning, he pushed himself to the edge of the bed and peeled back the blanket. There she was, her eyes shut tight, her face scrunched up in discomfort.
Initially, Enoch had thought her mood was down because of Lilith's pregnancy news, perhaps upset or jealous. But now, it seemed like she was actually physically ill.
His tone softened instantly, "Should I call the doctor?"
"No."
Despite her protests, Enoch reached for his phone, ready to make the call.
But Drusilla quickly grabbed his hand, "Really, I'm fine. You should get back to what you were doing."
"I've got nothing pressing." How could he focus on anything else with her like this? His concern wouldn't allow it.

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