After her voice, there was always a dead silence, and all that could be heard was the unchanging sound of the machines.
Grasping his hand, resting her head on it, she lay beside the bed and slowly closed her eyes. The tears she held back instantly slid down, dripping one by one into his palm.
In her drowsiness, she felt the hand beneath her head move slightly. The movement was so subtle that she didn't even know if it was real or an illusion. She straightened up and looked at it; the fingers of those big hands curled slightly. But he also made such movements usually, and the doctor said it was a normal reaction and did not mean he was waking up.
She didn't hold much hope in her heart. She broke into a smile amid her tears and talked to herself, "Little Uncle, you heard me talking, didn't you?"
