Rafael leaned back on the pillows, a smile he tried to suppress. The light of the setting sun filtered through the half-open curtains, casting soft golden glimmers on the sheets.

She could still hear her in the kitchen: the soft clinking of the pots, the gentle hiss of the onions as they fell into the oil, and the murmur she made when she thought no one was listening. It was a strange comfort she found in that sound. For weeks, the hospital walls had been her only company, cold and indifferent.