Donald stood by the corner, half-hidden by the shadows.
His hands were deep in his pockets, his eyes fixed on the woman lying unconscious on the bed.
Grace looked pale, her lips dry, her chest rising and falling slowly.
His shirt was wrinkled, his face unshaven, but he didn't care. The world outside that room didn't exist.
The doctor check her vital as she was trying to regain consciousness.
"Grace," he whispered, his voice trembling.
Her eyes opened slowly, weakly. They searched the room in confusion.
Donald froze. She couldn't see him properly yet.
His chest tightened as he stepped closer to her bedside.
"I'm here," he said quickly, his voice breaking. "I'm right here, Grace."
She turned her head toward his voice, her eyes glassy with tears. "You're here…" she breathed.
Donald took her hand gently. His thumb brushed her skin like it was the most fragile thing in the world.
His heart pounded as he tried to hold back the tears that burned behind his eyes.
