Celina let out a faint but genuine laugh. For the first time that day, her face softened.

Zoe cleared the table, washed the dishes, and the two of them talked until late. When her friend finally left, blowing a kiss and a whispered “we’re in this together”, Celina brushed her teeth, sat on the bed, and opened her laptop.

She pulled up the manuscript she had started back at the country house and let her fingers glide across the keyboard. The ideas rushed in like a storm, and when she finally looked at the clock, it was nearly three in the morning.

She fell asleep with her head light but her heart still heavy. Yet, a small flame of hope had begun to spark.

The next morning, the hospital was hushed, broken only by the muffled beeping of heart monitors and the hurried footsteps of nurses. In room 408, Isabela reclined on the bed in a white gown, her hair carefully arranged over her shoulders, trying her best to look fragile. Beside her, her mother Letícia scrolled through her phone, her g