I think he was aware of what had happened in the accident, and he just wasn't ready to face the painful truth. That's why he didn't wake up for so long.

Five and a half days after the end of his surgery, I noticed Archer's eyelashes flickering slightly, and his fingers twitching. Reaching out, I gently brushed his hair from his forehead and stood, kissing him between the eyes. A few minutes later, his eyes were open, a mildly scared, drugged expression about his face.

It took him a little while to gather his thoughts and questions and open his mouth to speak. I explained to him what had happened, and tears immediately wetted his pillow. It was an extremely harsh reality for him to face, but he had to do it.

They kept him in the hospital for another week, then discharged him. I took a leave of absence from work, but because of the circumstances, I was fortunate enough to continue receiving my paycheck, though it would be cut because I wasn't working. Archer was my top priority right now. I had the education, I could get a new job if I needed to. But there was only one Archer, and he wasn't worth risking.

I felt so sorry for him, he was so miserable. Even falling flat on my ass didn't make him laugh. When my cat Tiki snatched my breakfast while I went to get Archer a hot water bottle, he didn't even crack a smile. Still, I couldn't blame him.

The first two weeks were the hardest. He refused to talk unless he absolutely needed something, he didn't express any love for me, for the cat, or for anything. He acted like his life was over. True, he was in a wheelchair. But he was behaving as though he had just been told he had less than a week to live, and it really worried me.