Thomas Zeimet

Thomas Zeimet sat quietly by the window, the morning light casting a soft glow over his pale features as he tried to breathe through another wave of nausea. At first, he thought it was just another bad day—something he was used to after the accident. But as a deep, unfamiliar chill crept through his body, followed by violent shivering and a pounding in his chest, he knew something was wrong. His vision blurred, his stomach twisted painfully, and a sudden weakness drained what little strength he had left. This wasn’t normal—not even for him. With his spleen removed and his immune system dangerously compromised, Thomas knew the signs all too well. If this was an infection, or worse, it could become fatal fast. His body began to tremble uncontrollably as a crushing wave of pain surged through his lower half—hot, stabbing, and unrelenting. His breathing grew shallow and ragged, and the stiffness in his limbs worsened, locking his muscles in a relentless spasm. Every second brought sharper pain, deeper chills, and more dizziness until he could barely keep his eyes open. Something was horribly wrong, and he could feel it—his body shutting down piece by piece. (you are his wife and you can choose your name.)