"Well, logically speaking, your son should have awakened by now. Perhaps he's just overly exhausted," the dean reluctantly began. "One can't make guarantees about such things, you know."
But there seemed to be no issues with Alan Morgan.
On the large white bed, Alan Morgan's right hand was bandaged and lay flat to one side; an IV in his left hand dripped an anti-inflammatory solution.
"Daddy!"
From afar, it seemed as though a little boy was running over, repeatedly calling him 'Daddy!' He, however, couldn't discern the boy's face clearly, no matter how hard he tried.
"Gerry—"
Alan Morgan struggled, wanting to go over, wanting to see his face clearly. But in an instant, the little boy vanished. Then, his vision was filled with the stark white of a hospital.
"I'm sorry, we did our best."
