**A Morning of Regret**
Prompt: Simon yates wakes up sick with the need to vomit. He does not make it to the bathroom on time. The sound of him puking woke up his wife emily. Simon felt guilty about not making it to the bathroom on time amd making a mess. Emily takes care of simon as he battles nausea al day.
Simon Yates woke up with a palpable tightness in his stomach, a sensation that set off alarm bells in his mind. He bolted upright, the early morning light streaming through the curtains doing nothing to help his queasy demeanor. The world around him felt off-kilter, disjointed, as if every sound had been amplified. He suddenly felt a wave of nausea crash over him, an overwhelming urge to vomit that he couldn’t ignore.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, he glanced at the clock on the nightstand—4:35 AM. He tried to steady his breathing, hoping against hope that he could quell the rising tide of discomfort. He didn’t want to wake Emily, who lay peacefully beside him, her soft breaths punctuating the silence of their bedroom. But the pressure in his stomach was relentless, and as the feeling intensified, he knew he had to act fast.
With every ounce of determination, he swung his legs off the bed and stood, but as soon as he did, the nausea hit him like a train. He stumbled toward the bathroom, heart pounding in his chest, but it was too late. Gagging noises escaped his throat, and before he could reach the doorway, his body betrayed him. He felt the warm rush of vomit escape, splattering the floor and his pajamas. The sound echoed in the stillness of the night, a horrific culmination of his failing stomach.
Startled awake, Emily shot up in bed, her eyes wide with concern. “Simon?” she called out, her voice slightly hoarse from sleep. The worry in her tone pierced through his haze of embarrassment. “What happened?”
“I—oh, God,” he stammered, one hand clutching his stomach while the other rested against the doorframe for support. The guilt washed over him like a second wave. How could he have let it come to this? After years of shared moments and intimate nights, this was an approach he never wanted to take.
Emily rushed across the room, her hair falling in tousled waves around her face. The sleep was still evident in her eyes, but she moved with practiced urgency. “Oh, Simon,” she whispered, kneeling beside him. “Are you okay?”
“No, I’m so sorry,” he managed to croak out, mortification flooding through him. “I tried to make it…”
“Shh, don’t worry about it now,” she interjected gently, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Let’s clean this up first.”
As Emily moved to get a cloth, Simon’s head spun with a mix of embarrassment and lingering nausea. He could hardly watch as she took care of the mess, all the while whispering words of comfort. “It’s alright, love. Sometimes it happens. Let’s just focus on you feeling better.”
Once the immediate crisis had been dealt with, Emily helped Simon to the bathroom. He sank down onto the cool porcelain of the toilet seat, feeling the world tilt again as he tried to gather his thoughts. “I shouldn't have woken you up,” he murmured, regretting the disturbance.
Emily crouched beside him, her presence steadying. “I’m your wife, Simon. It’s my job to take care of you, sick or not. Just breathe.”
But breathing was hard as wave after wave of nausea rolled through him. He doubled over as another bout gripped him, but this time, Emily was ready. She held his hair back gently, murmuring soothing words while gently rubbing his back. Every retch only deepened his sense of guilt, unbearable at times, but her unwavering strength anchored him.
After what felt like an eternity, the nausea finally subsided, leaving Simon exhausted. He leaned back against the cool wall, finally able to catch his breath. “I don’t deserve you,” he sighed, looking at Emily, who wiped his brow with a damp cloth. Her expression was a mixture of compassion and resolve, more worried for him than anything else.
“You have to stop saying that,” she replied, a faint smile breaking through the concern. “This is part of being married, right? Caring for each other through thick and thin?”
As the morning stretched into afternoon, Simon battled with waves of nausea, which seemed unyielding and relentless. Emily remained by his side, barely leaving the room except to grab light snacks and herbal tea, always checking in on him.
“How’s the nausea?” she asked gently as she returned from the kitchen, cradling a steaming mug.
“It’s still here,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”
“We’ll get through it together,” Emily assured him, handing him the mug. “Sip this slowly.”
While he took small sips of the ginger tea, would it have been possible to feel more cared for? He pondered quietly, his heart swelling with the realization that Emily was right. Love meant diving into the messy parts of life, embracing vulnerability, even when it felt like a burden.
By midday, the waves of nausea had calmed, and Simon felt grateful, though still drained. Emily remained resolute, ready with a blanket or a warm compress every time he shifted in discomfort. “You need to rest, Simon,” she urged, tucking the blanket carefully around him. “I’m here.”
He looked at her, his heart full, the guilt slowly dissipating. “I’m sorry for making you go through this,” he finally said, voice unsteady yet sincere.
“Stop apologizing,” she replied, her voice firm yet affectionate. “It doesn’t change anything but causes you more stress. Focus on getting better.”
The simple honesty in her words made him wish he could banish the shame he felt. With the weight of her care surrounding him, he let go a little more; he surrendered to the kindness she offered—the kind that comes from love, strong and enduring.
Days would come and go, but this morning, however messy, was a testament to their bond—a reminder that in sickness and in health, they stood together, facing every challenge the world threw at them, possible messes and all.
