Angélica shook her head, holding back tears.

“I can’t bear to see my son like this again, Sara…” she said, her voice breaking. “This… this is killing me. And the worst part is I’m to blame. And now…”

“Angélica…” Dona Sara interrupted softly. “He’s lost right now. But we can’t lose faith. He’s still that boy you raised with so much love. He’s just hurt. Patience, my dear… things will fall back into place.”

“I don’t know…” Angélica replied, looking at Thor as if searching for traces of the son she once knew. “This time he’s worse. And that’s on me too…”

The afternoon dragged on slowly. The TV murmured in the background just to break the silence, the wall clock ticked, the muffled steps of staff echoed faintly through the house. Angélica sat on the opposite sofa, waiting. Praying in silence.

When Thor finally stirred, it was past three. He stretched slowly, pressing his temples. The hangover was brutal—both physical and emotional. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes still half-shut.

“Da