Isabel’s POVSince surviving the ordeal with the poison, I found myself appreciating life with a new intensity. Every breath felt sharper, every color brighter, as if the world had been turned up a notch. Even the simplest things—the softness of my sheets, the warmth of the sun streaming through the hospital window—seemed precious in a way I’d never fully appreciated before.Emerson, however, had taken my near-death experience as an excuse to wrap me in bubble wrap.“Do you need another blanket? The room feels drafty,” he asked for the third time that morning, pacing like a mother hen.I gave him a wry smile. “Emerson, I’m recovering, not turning into porcelain.”He frowned, ignoring my jab. “You need to stay warm. I’ll get you—”“Don’t you dare,” I said, holding up a hand. “If you bring me one more pillow, I’ll start throwing them at you.”A reluctant grin tugged at the corner of his lips, though he tried to mask it with a serious expression. “Fine, but I’m keeping an eye on you.”He
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