A week had passed. Donald had been in a coma for seven days, but there was no sign of waking up.

I wrung out the towel, washed his face, rinsed his mouth and wiped his face as usual

"Your hands are moving on my body. What do you want to imply?"

Suddenly, a voice came.

I couldn't believe it. I opened my eyes wide and asked happily, "are you awake?"

When he was about to stand up, I stopped him in a hurry. "Your wound hasn't healed yet. The doctor said that you can't get out of bed until half a month later."

"Half a month?" He paused.

"Yes, half...