Ophelia's POV
Sam stepped inside the room.
Ophelia wasn't sure whether or not to be shocked, but his sudden rawness had inspired her to try.
She couldn't stay without him. She couldn't imagine not at the very least trying.
It had paid off.
"I want to help you with that cut," he offered.
Ophelia rolled her eyes.
"I'm a grown woman, I can take care of it myself."
"But you shouldn't have to," Sam chided. "I'll be right back."
He hurried from the room. Ophelia wanted to ask where he was going, but he was gone so fast she didn't have the time.
She took a second to look around the room to make sure that there was nothing embarrassing left out that he might stumble upon.
Thankfully, she had tidied the room the day before, and everything was neatly in its place.
He returned quickly, a fresh rag and a bowl of cool water in hand.
"Sit, sit," he directed, motioning towards the bed.
Ophelia sat, watching him carefully.