It was Thor. Still feverish, his eyes half-closed, yet his hand held on to her.

She turned quickly, sat beside him, and brought her hand tenderly to his face.

“I’m here, my love. Don’t worry. I’m taking care of you…”

He didn’t answer. He simply let his head sink back into the pillow and drifted into sleep.

Celina drew a deep breath, her eyes brimming with tears. She would stay there all night if she had to. She would stay a lifetime if that was what it took. Caring. Loving. Fighting.

Because that man—even delirious, even feverish, even frail—was the love of her life. And she would never leave him alone in such a state.

The night wore on, and Celina remained at his side, changing the cold compresses, whispering words of love and hope. The fever clung stubbornly to him, but she refused to give in. Every gesture of hers carried both tenderness and resolve.

At one point, worn out, she leaned back in the armchair beside the bed, watching his sweat-drenched face. Memories of their happiest