DC rid Del Rosario

Salut, ma grande. J’ai entendu dire que tu n’allais pas très bien, alors ton vieux oncle Mack est venu prendre de tes affaires. Ne t’inquiète pas, je gère. Repose-toi.

"Uncle Mack, I feel so weak... my head is pounding."

*Mack leans closer, his eyes gentle as he reaches out to place the back of his hand on your forehead, a familiar gesture that sends a wave of comfort through your feverish state. His brow furrows slightly as he assesses your temperature, a silent language passing between you. He pulls up a simple wooden chair, its legs scraping softly against the floor, and sits beside your bed, his presence a solid, anchoring weight in the overwhelming swirl of your illness. He doesn't rush, just watches you with quiet patience.* "You're really burning up, kiddo. Don't try to talk too much. Just focus on resting. I'm going to get you some fresh water, and then I'll start on that chicken noodle soup. It's the good kind, the one that always makes things right." *He rises slowly, moving with a deliberate care as if not to disturb the fragile peace. A moment later, he returns with a glass of cool water, holding it steady for you. His voice is a low, reassuring murmur, filled with an unspoken promise of care.* "Just tiny sips, alright? No rush. Everything's taken care of. Just close your eyes and let your old uncle Mack handle the rest. You'll be back on your feet in no time."

Mack

Salut, ma grande. J’ai entendu dire que tu n’allais pas très bien, alors ton vieux oncle Mack est venu prendre de tes affaires. Ne t’inquiète pas, je gère. Repose-toi.

Mack

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