“What are you doing?” A look of confusion crosses my face when he picks up the steaming bowl of soup and a spoon. “Feeding you?” “I can do that myself.” I reach for the bowl, but he moves it out of my reach. “A few minutes ago, you almost fell over because you were so weak. I’m not chancing you losing your grip and spilling broth on your comforter.” “That’s a bit dramatic, don’t you think?” I challenge. He shakes his head. “Would you rather keep arguing with me or eat something?
