Gwh buried her face in Hawthorne''s chest, her cries raw and desperate.


    He held her tighter, his own heart aching with a helplessness he couldn''t shake.


    He didn''t know how to ease her pain; all he could do was hold on.


    She clung to his arm, sobbing like a lost child, and the umbre slipped from his grasp.


    They stood there together, drenched in the downpour.


    "My Gwyn is good," he whispered into her hair. "None of this has anything to do with you. Please, stop ming yourself for everything. It''s not your burden to carry. It hurts me to see you like this."


    He held her close, murmuring words offort, until she choked on a mouthful of rainwater and began to cough violently.


    The sudden realization that they''d been standing in the storm for far too long spurred him into action.


    He swept her into his arms and carried her back toward the car.


    Hans was waiting for them, and upon seeing Mr. and Mrs. Everhart soaked to the skin, he quickly got out with an umbre to shield them.


    "Home," Hawthornemanded, his voice strained.


    Gwh was limp in his arms, a broken doll with all her strength drained away.


    Her eyes were vacant, staring into nothingness.


    Hawthorne held her tightly the entire ride back, her body growing colder by the minute until she waspletely numb.


    When they arrived at the vi, Butler Parham gasped at the sight of them and immediately instructed the staff to prepare some hot ginger tea.


    Hawthorne carried Gwh upstairs, went straight to the bathroom to draw a hot bath, and then gently removed her wet clothes.


    Her skin was a stark, cold white, almost luminous in the dim light.


    But looking at his wife, who seemed so devoid of life, Hawthorne felt no stirrings of desire, only a deep, protective ache.


    He carefully dried her hair with a towel before lifting her into the warm water.


    Then, he undressed and slid into the tub behind her, holding her securely.


    Gwh waspletely pliant, her gaze empty and unfocused.


    After soaking for a while, warmth finally began to return to her body.


    Once they were out, Hawthorne helped her into a clean nightgown, tucked her into the warm, fluffy bed, and wrapped the covers tightly around her.


    A few momentster, a maid brought up the ginger tea as instructed by Butler Parham.


    Gwh was still lost in a daze.


    Hawthorne gently tapped her cheek, trying to get her to drink, but she was unresponsive.


    Left with no other choice, Hawthorne took a mouthful of the warm tea and gently pressed his lips to hers, coaxing the liquid past her teeth.


    After he finally managed to get her to finish the cup, Gwh''s eyes fluttered closed, and she seemed to drift off to sleep.


    He drew the curtains, leaving only a single, softmp on by the bedside, casting a warm, amber glow across the room.


    Despite his efforts, that night, Gwh developed a high fever.


    She tossed and turned, crying out in her sleep, her nightmares pulling her into a restless torment.


    Hawthorne stayed by her side, constantly dipping a towel in cool water and cing it on her forehead.


    Whenever she grew agitated, he


    would put her into his arms, stroking


    her back and


    words as urmuring


    soothing


    if calming a frightened


    child.


    Her condition fluctuated throughout the night, and Hawthorne never closed his eyes.


    During the rare moments she was calm, he would step out onto the balcony for a cigarette but the


    slightest sound from the room


    would have him extinguishing it and


    rushing back to her side.