When Jasmine woke up in the hospital, it was already the next afternoon.
The smell of disinfectant was so strong that it made her want to cough. A cold fever patch rested on her forehead, and her right leg was wrapped in thick bandages. Any little movement sent a sharp, piercing pain right through her.
She turned her head and saw Donald sitting on the chair beside the bed, his hand propping up his forehead as if he had fallen asleep.
The moment she moved, he woke up.
"Jasmine." He stood up, leaned over, and looked at her. "How are you feeling?"
There were dark circles under his eyes, he hadn't shaved, and his shirt was wrinkled.
He let out a sigh. "I know you're upset, but no matter how angry you are, you can't stay there all by yourself. Your leg isn't in good shape, and it was alre
