“He turned over in the bed and banged his head against the headboard. He groaned and put his hands over his eyes and stood up. Rata-tat sounded at the door. He walked over to it, and peered out the peephole before opening the door. His heart skipped a beat when he saw Monet standing there looking forlorn. It took all the will-power that he possessed not to pull his wife into his arms. He took a few steps backward, and Monet walked into the room. She stopped and stood on her toes and touched Marc...us’s puffy cheek. “I don’t have to ask you how you feel. You look terrible. What happened to your face?” Monet walked to a chair and sat down. Her eyes roamed over Marcus like she hadn’t seen him in years. Marcus sat on the bed. He moistened his dry lips. “I’ve had better days. My face is fine,” he said in a low voice. He looked out the window, and then back at Monet. “Why are you here?” “Because you’re my husband, I love you, and you should be home with me,” she said fervently, leaning forward in the chair.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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