JASON'S POV
I was exhausted.
Physically.
Mentally.
Emotionally.
And apparently, I was also my drunk wife's designated caretaker for the night.
Because just as I was about to tuck her in and finally escape, Ella's expression suddenly twisted in discomfort.
"I don't feel so good," she mumbled.
Before I could even process what was happening, she bolted out of the bed—or rather, stumbled out of the bed, staggering toward the bathroom with one hand clamped over her mouth.
I cursed under my breath and rushed after her.
By the time I reached her, she was already throwing up into the toilet, and I quickly crouched down, instinctively gathering her hair in my hands and pulling it back.
Great. Just great.
If I had known I'd be babysitting my wife tonight, I would've mentally prepared myself.
She coughed, groaned, then rested her forehead against the cool porcelain.
I let out a sigh before standing up to grab her a cup of water.
