**A Promise in the Shadows of Sickness**

Prompt: Simon woke up sick but he did not let that stop him because he promised his wife emily he would do the chores today so that she can work from home. Every movement made him dizzy. Halve way trough his chore list he naerly fainted and needed a quick break on the couch as he tried not to fall asleep. It was then that he heard emily come in from her home office. He quickly tried to get back to the chores as to not dissapoint her but he failt. Emily got realy angry with him when she saw not everything was finished. She did not notice that he was sick. Simon could not hold it back anymore. He cried as he tried to explain. The nausea got out of control and simon berely made it to the sink on time he puked wilhe still crying. Emily took care of simon

Simon woke up feeling like a heavy fog had settled in his head. The world around him swirled in a dizzying blur of muted colors and muffled sounds. As he lay in bed, tucked under the soft comforter, he realized he was supposed to be doing the chores today. It was the least he could do for Emily, who had agreed to work from home. The promise he made echoed through his hazy mind: "I’ll take care of everything today, Emily. You focus on your work." He pushed himself up, immediately regretting the decision as the room twisted and turned. Simon squeezed his eyes shut, trying to find some semblance of balance. Taking a deep breath, he reminded himself of the reason behind this Herculean effort: Emily. She worked so hard, pouring herself into her job at the agency, and Simon had promised to lighten her load. No matter how sick he felt, he had to keep that promise. With determination gnawing at the edges of his discomfort, he shuffled to the kitchen. The floors felt like they were shifting beneath his feet, and he gripped the counter, steadying himself. The list of chores was long: dishes, laundry, vacuuming, and a few odds and ends that had piled up over the week. The first chore was the dishes. He leaned against the sink, battling nausea, and washed each plate with meticulous care, though his vision blurred and the spinning intensified. The cool water felt refreshing, but each splash sent ripples of dizziness crashing through him. Eventually, the dishes stacked away clean, and he took a moment to brace himself against the counter, breathing heavily while the spark of accomplishment briefly chased away the sickness. Next was the laundry. He dragged himself down the hall, fighting the urge to lie down and succumb to sleep. The washing machine was a mechanical monster, but Simon loaded it as best as he could, struggling to keep the world from closing in around him. He took a moment to close his eyes, resting against the machine as it whirred to life. The vibrations felt comforting, but even that lasted only a moment. Halfway through his chore list, Simon was already struggling. His knees felt weak, and the dizziness transformed into a harsh pull at his stomach. He found himself teetering dangerously close to passing out and suddenly, the world around him felt unsteady. He realized he needed a break. Just a short moment on the couch to regroup. Collapsing onto the couch, Simon closed his eyes, praying for the nausea to dissipate. He fought against the overwhelming desire to sleep, terrified that if he succumbed, he’d let Emily down. It felt like mere moments passed before he heard the soft click of the door. Emily was coming in. Simon’s heart raced as he sat up, quick to gather the energy to stand. He couldn’t let her see him like this. He needed to finish the chores. Panic flared in his chest; he had to make it right. Shuffling back into the kitchen, he began ruffling through the things left undone, his energy dwindling with every passing second. Emily appeared in the doorway, her expression shifting from focus to concern in a heartbeat. “Simon, what are you doing? You look terrible!” He waved a dismissive hand, desperate to reassure her. “I’m fine! Just a bit tired.” But the truth was evident as she looked around. The dishes were done, and laundry started, but the vacuum sat idling on the floor and the surfaces remained cluttered. Emily's eyebrows knitted together, anger flaring in her eyes. “You promised me you’d take care of everything. Is this your idea of helping? You can't just do half of it and leave the rest!” Her words cut deeper than he anticipated. Simon felt a lump rise in his throat, powerless to combat the wave of emotion crashing over him. Trying to speak, he found that the words escaped him, his spirit shattered under the weight of her disappointment. “I… I’m…” Before he could finish, a wave of nausea swept over him, hard and unrelenting. He didn’t have time to stop and apologize. He ran for the sink just in time; he barely made it before the contents of his stomach surged forth in a violent eruption. The sound that broke free was more than just physical; it was a mix of his frustrations, exhaustion, and overwhelming sickness. “Oh my God, Simon!” Emily gasped, rushing over, the ire in her face replaced by shock and concern. “What’s wrong?” As he leaned over the sink, body shaking with each retch, tears streamed down his face. “I’m so sorry, Em,” he managed to choke out. “I promised… I wanted to help you, but I didn’t realize—I didn’t think. I just wanted to take care of you.” Emily stood frozen, the reality of the situation dawning on her. She reached out, placing a gentle hand on his back. “Simon, I didn’t know you were this sick.” Her voice softened, the brisk edge evaporating. “You didn’t have to do everything. I would have understood if you asked for help.” He turned towards her, tears mingling with the remnants of his illness. “I thought if I could just push through… I wanted you to focus on work. I didn’t want to let you down.” Her eyes softened, and she knelt beside him. “You could never let me down, Simon. Not by being sick. Your health comes first.” With a deep breath, and a supportive hand on his shoulder, Emily helped guide him back to the couch. There was no need for anger now, only comfort as she sat beside him, brushing the damp hair from his forehead. “I’ll take care of you now, and the chores,” she said softly. And for the first time that day, the fog began to lift—this time, not just from his head, but from the weight of his unspoken fears too.