"Lisa, how many times have I told you to just buy food from outside?" He sighed, pulling me into his arms.
"I didn’t marry you to serve me. How can you visit the hospital every day if you don’t take care of yourself?"
"Mom’s still waiting for a grandson," Oliver said, looking at me, his eyes carefully avoiding mine.
"It smells so good. What did our Lisa make for me today?"
"Ward rounds!"
Suddenly, a white figure burst into the room, swiftly placing herself between Oliver and me.
“Sorry, auntie, I’m here for rounds,” the nurse said, her wide eyes betraying a mix of hesitation and innocence.
Oliver, typically gentle, wore a dark expression, his glare fixed on the girl before him.
As I handed him the soup, he shoved me aside. “How could the nurse be so careless? Get out!”
A sharp thud echoed in my chest, a jolt of pain radiating through me as a large piece of burned skin on my arm tore away. The young nurse remained oblivious to my distress, stepping closer to Oliver with a smile as she fussed over his clothes, adjusting and straightening them.
Then, she turned to me, her expression hardening.
“Ah! How do you take care of a patient? Don’t you know he doesn’t eat carrots?”
She covered her ears, took a step back, and then dashed out of the room, returning just as quickly.
"There’s a fresh meal at the nurse’s station—take mine too."
"Auntie, don’t misunderstand. These things are in the patient’s admission file. I just have a good memory."
My breath caught, and my head began to throb. The lingering smoke in the room reminded me of Dorthy Ball, who had been abused as a child. Back then, my father would smoke and swing sticks at my mother and me.
"I’m sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t eat carrots."
I spoke, a bit irritated. Eighteen-year-old Oliver used to bring carrots to school every day just because I casually mentioned liking little rabbits. He would quietly look up at me while chewing on them.
He loved staring into my eyes, his mouth pouting as he complained, "The little rabbit likes to eat carrots, and I like carrots too. If you like the little rabbit, then you should like me!"
But things have changed.
I glanced at Oliver, observing him silently. Time had been kind to him, and the person in front of me overlapped with the memory I held. It felt as though nothing had changed, yet everything had.