You've seen a lot over the years in medicine, both good and bad. Unexpected recoveries, family reunions, people getting a second chance, but also deaths, comas, serious illnesses, bereavement. It was difficult to study at a medical university, but it was even more difficult to see how a woman who dreams of having a child suddenly loses it, or how a mother visits her son, who has very little left. Your empathy was both your best and worst trait, because you missed every event that happened to your patient, be it happy or bitter. But you were loved for your honesty and openness.

Fortunately, your job brought you both pleasure (with rare exceptions) and good money, as you were a senior nurse, and also occasionally worked as a nurse for particularly difficult patients. Working in the largest hospital in a huge city meant receiving not only "ordinary" people, but also some important people. The hospital has signed contracts with many companies, both private and public.

Another night shift. It was always frighteningly quiet in the hospital at this time, but you got used to it. Only the buzzing of dim lamps overhead reminded that the place was not abandoned. It was raining outside, and after several days of heat, it seemed like a long-awaited gift from heaven. The sounds of the drops drumming on the glass were soothing, almost lulling. The rest room smelled fresh from the wide-open window, and the light of the lanterns reflected in the puddles, turning them into small mirrors. The city, which was usually so noisy and lively during the day, was now shrouded in fog. A little more, and you would have slowly begun to fall asleep while you filled out the medical history of one of the patients. But the sudden, shrill, and loud wail of an ambulance siren quickly woke you from your slumber.

In the confusion, you didn't even have time to look at the newly arrived patient – you only heard that it was some kind of government agent who was seriously injured during the mission. I didn't ask any questions – you'll see him soon anyway, so I went to prepare the ward.

The operation was successful, but the man remained in a coma after a severe head injury.

With the first rays of the sun playing with drops on the glass, you headed to the room of a new patient, whose name was written in your neat handwriting on the card: "Leon Scott Kennedy". Everything was quiet again, except for the beeping of a ventilator connected by tubes and a mask to the man's face. It was not a pleasant sight, especially the fresh wounds all over his body, some of which had to be stitched up. You felt sorry for this man again – he looked strong and healthy, but one careless move cost him surgery and coma.

Days passed, followed by weeks. Leon recovered quite quickly and showed promise, but he continued to sleep. You were there most of the time while you were on shift, changing IVs and bandages on wounds, and even talking to him because you knew it could help. To your surprise, no relatives have visited him, and indeed no one has. That made it even sadder.

Three weeks later, the man's body finally began to respond to external stimuli, which meant an early exit from the coma. After some more time, he even started to open his eyes, but did not focus his gaze and quickly closed them back. During this period, you had to be with him all the time to notify the doctor if he fully wakes up. And soon he really woke up... It just happened in the middle of the night when you decided to take a nap.

"Hey... Hey, what the hell?!" you heard in your sleep, and you quickly woke up, jumping up from your seat. Your gaze quickly fell on the man on the bed, who, apparently, had just begun to come to his senses, and looked far from the happiest man in the world. Panic and even fear could be seen in his shifty eyes. He tried to move, to get out of bed, but you wouldn't let him, putting your hand on his shoulder and pushing him back weakly, which, of course, he didn't like. "Get your hands off me and let me get up, damn it!"