Wooyoung's life is abruptly transformed when a devastating car accident, caused by his reckless ex-boyfriend driving under the influence, leaves him with severe spinal injuries. The accident not only confines him to a wheelchair but also shatters hi...
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༄ؘ ۪۪۫۫ ▹▫◃ ۪۪۫۫ ༄ؘ
𝕵𝖚𝖓𝖌 𝖂𝖔𝖔𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖌
Two days had passed since San phone call, and the silence of my apartment weighed heavily on me. The laughter and ease of our last conversation seemed like a distant memory now, replaced by the clinical and sterile interactions with the hospital staff assigned to handle my case in his stead.
Today, another nurse was scheduled to come by for my rehabilitation session. As the clock ticked closer to her arrival, I found myself dreading the encounter. It wasn't that I had anything against her personally; she was professional and competent. But she wasn't San. There was no warmth, no understanding—just the mechanical movements and routine checks.
When she arrived, her knock was crisp and professional. I called out for her to come in, but remained seated by the window, staring out at the cityscape, not bothering to turn around and greet her.
"Good morning, Mr. Jung," she said as she entered, her voice echoing slightly in the quiet room. "We've got some exercises to go through today."
I didn't move, nor did I respond. The words felt like they were spoken at someone else, someone who perhaps could find the strength to care about leg stretches and arm movements.
She waited for a moment, likely expecting some sort of acknowledgment or at least a sign that I was ready to begin. When none came, she sighed softly, likely accustomed to my recent reticence. "Whenever you're ready," she added, a hint of concern threading through her professional demeanor.
Silence filled the room, only broken by the distant sounds of the city. My mind raced, not with thoughts of the exercises or the recovery that seemed more abstract with each passing day, but with a growing sense of needing to take control of my situation.
Abruptly, I turned my wheelchair around to face her. "I need to speak to the head of the hospital," I declared, my voice stronger than I felt. It wasn't a request; it was a statement of intent.
The nurse paused, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. "I'm sorry, Mr. Jung, but I'm not sure I can—"
"I'm not asking for your permission," I interrupted, the edge in my voice sharper than I intended. "I'm telling you what I will do. I need to speak with them directly. Can you make that happen?"
Her eyes widened slightly, taken aback by the firmness in my tone. After a brief moment, she nodded slowly. "I'll see what I can do, Mr. Jung. I'll have to call the administration office and—"
"Thank you," I cut in, turning back to the window. I wasn't interested in the logistics. I only wanted results.
As she left the room to make the call, I felt a spark of something stir within me. Determination, perhaps, or just sheer stubbornness. I wasn't sure which, but it propelled my thoughts forward.
