Whispers Turn to Whimpers: Could He Ever Change?

"No worries," Caroline said, springing to her feet and dabbing at him with a towel. "Want some more?"

Francis shook his head, turning down another drink.

"Just wait here, okay?"

Turning around, Caroline fetched a clean shirt from the closet and propped up the head of the bed. Then, she began unbuttoning Francis' shirt, explaining, "It's uncomfortable wearing wet clothes. Let's get you into something dry."

She didn’t call for a nurse, choosing instead to help him out of his wet shirt herself. She slipped one arm into the sleeve of the clean shirt. Next, her hands moved under Francis' armpits to button the shirt at his back, and with a determined bite of her lip, she counted, "One, two, three..."

With a heave, she helped him sit up, taking the opportunity to smooth the shirt down his back before slipping his other arm into its sleeve.

"There we go." Flushed from the effort, Caroline buttoned up the shirt, chatting away, "I know you don’t like the nurses seeing you like this. It's okay when it's just me, right? See, I can manage just fine on my own."

Francis' eyes drooped as he gazed at her.

Outside, Sherilyn had watched the whole scene unfold. Her intuition told her that Caroline's feelings for Francis were genuine—she truly, deeply cared for him. So, Sherilyn was puzzled. Why then had Caroline hurt her years ago? If Fran never woke up, he would be leaving Caroline with nothing but a memory. Would Caroline harm her, risking their child in the process? That didn’t make sense.

"They seem to be doing alright," Edgar said, raising his hand to knock on the door.

"Come in."

"Sherilyn, let's go in."

"Okay, sure."

As they entered, Caroline was sitting by the bed, clipping Francis' nails. Looking up, she said, "Here to see Francis? You’re just in time; he’s awake. Have a seat." She gestured to the chairs across from them.

"Alright."

Edgar nodded, setting down the things he had brought. Sherilyn closely observed Francis. Objectively, he looked much better than her last visit; his hair was neatly trimmed, and his stubble was cleanly shaved. His nails were neatly clipped, too.

After finishing with his nails, Caroline took out some hand cream and began massaging it into his hands, their fingers intertwining. Smiling at Francis, she said, "This will keep your hands from getting dry. Feel better?"

Francis blinked in agreement.

Sherilyn frowned, her earlier intuition growing stronger. Such meticulous care for someone could only stem from love. Especially since the Johnson family had nurses, yet Caroline was doing all this herself.

Francis' voice was garbled as he tried to speak, looking at Sherilyn. This material belongs to NôvelDrama.Org.

"Don't worry," Caroline quickly reassured him. "Sherilyn's here to see you, and she'll keep coming back. Once you're better, we'll have plenty of time to talk, right, Sherilyn?"

"Yes." For once, Sherilyn agreed with her, nodding with a smile. "Fran, I'll swing by whenever I can. Just don’t get sick of me, okay?"

"Francis," Edgar said, having set his things down and joined them, "And me, I'm here too. You might not remember me; I'm Edgar, Yates' cousin."

Francis looked puzzled.

"Ah," Caroline waved her hand, teasingly saying, "Just tell him you're Sherilyn's boyfriend; that'll jog his memory."