How is he—asleep? In what condition?” gasped the mother-in-law. “Just resting. Nothing serious, a slight temperature, all fine—winter’s just begun.

What do you mean, poorly? How bad is he? gasped the mother-in-law.

Hes sleeping. Nothing serious, just a slight feverwinters coming, after all.

This isnt just winter! Its your jobyoure bringing all sorts of germs home from that checkout counter! How many times must I tell you to find another job?

Emily was asleep when a loud noise startled hersomeone had opened the front door! She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clockonly eight in the morning!

Oliver, love, is that you? she called out, listening for movement in the flat.

No answer. Only the sound of the bathroom door creaking open, then silence.

Emily threw on her dressing gown and hurried barefoot to the bathroom.

She gasped at the sight before her.

Her husband, Oliver, stood before the mirror, lips stretched wide, admiring his tongue.

Emily, is it true that when youre poorly, your tongue turns white? he asked.

Are you ill? she mumbled, still half-asleep.

Must be, he replied, pressing a hand to his forehead. I need the thermometer. Where is it? I should lie down. They even sent me home from work. Might need to call the doctor.

Emily fetched the thermometer. Sure enough99 degrees. Winter had arrived, and Oliver was under the weather. The doctor came an hour later, signed him off work.

Emily rang her mum.

Could you pick up little Timmy from nursery? Olivers illdont want him catching it.

Her mum was delightedshe adored her grandson and lived alone, so Timmy was her joy.

Is Oliver really that bad?

No, nothing serious. Doctors given him medication, told him to rest.

And how are *you* feeling? her mum asked anxiously.

Fine! Ive got the late shift, so Ill ask Olivers mum to check on him tonight. Another week of this. She sighed. Thanks, Mum.

Rightwhat to do? A light chicken soup would do. But shed need to pop to the shop for carrots and potatoes, and the pharmacy too. She pulled out chicken thighs from the freezer.

At the chemist, she got everything needed. At lunch, she gently shook Oliver awake.

Oliver, love, sit uphave some soup.

He groaned and sat up, clutching his head.

Feel queasy. Can I have it in bed? Cant make it to the kitchen.

That bad? She sighed. Fine, Ill bring it. Check your temperature after.

After soup and pills, he rolled over and went straight back to sleep. Good. She couldnt afford to fall illOliver got full sick pay, but at the shop, she didnt. Not with the mortgage hanging over them.

She rang her mother-in-law.

Margaret, Olivers poorly. Could you check on him tonight? The shops busyI wont have time to call.

*Poorly*? How bad? Margaret gasped.

Just resting. Slight feverwinter bugs going round.

Winter bugs? Its that *job* of yours! Bringing home every sniffle from that till! Ive told youfind something else!

Margaret, Im *fine*, Emily cut in. Youve said yourself Oliver was always poorly as a boy. First cold snapits normal.

Best to end the call before Margaret turned a molehill into a mountain. No point arguingshed likely show up within the hour. Fine. Let her fuss. Emily had work soon.

Sure enough, Margaret arrived with bags of herbal remedies, tutting as she changed Olivers sweat-drenched shirt.

Honestly, letting him lie there damp! No wonder hes worse!

He was *asleep*, Margaret. Was I meant to wake him?

Emily left for work. Hours later, a wave of fatigue hit her. Oh nonow *she* was coming down with it. But no complaints allowedjust get through the shift.

That evening, her fever was higher than Olivers. She wanted to whinge, but he was too busy examining his tongue in the mirror.

Still white, he muttered.

Right. No room for weakness. No point telling Mumshed ring nonstop with advice. Margaret would blame her. And Oliver? Oblivious.

Decision made: swallow it down, take painkillers quietly, and work. The bills wouldnt pay themselves.

For a week, Oliver wallowed in self-pity, insisting he was *terribly* illeven when the thermometer read normal. Margaret hovered with her potions. The last thing Emily wanted was another lecture.

She measured her temperature every night. Finally, on day four, it was normal. The fatigue lingered, but she carried on. Oliver, meanwhile, demanded meals in bed, drinks fetched, constant attention.

Margaret claimed hed been sickly as a boybut in five years of marriage, this was his first cold, and it was *unbearable*.

Every minor sniffle was a crisis.

The following week, he was cleared to work. Timmy came home.

Over tea that evening, Oliver sighed dramatically.

Illness hits harder as an adult. Youve no idea what I went through.

Was it really *that* bad?

Easy for you to sayyou were fine!

I *wasnt*. I had the same thing. You just didnt notice.

Oliver stared, then smirked.

Joking, right? Come on, lets sleep.

Emily sighed. He *still* hadnt realised.

Fine.

It was like that old jokea woman whos given birth can *almost* understand what a man goes through with a slight fever.

Sometimes, the hardest part of love is caring for someone wholl never see how much you carry alone.