I open my eyes and blink several times, discomforted by the light. I notice I have oxygen on and an IV in my hand, and above all, the stabbing pain still lingering in my stomach.

I’m still alive, I tell myself in my mind. The last thing I remember is lying in the mausoleum, in a pool of blood, while Alexander was coming toward me and crying intensely. Was it a dream? I ask myself, exasperated. Alexander crying for me... I couldn’t believe it, though it seemed so real.

Suddenly, I hear the creak of the door opening and see Alexander standing before me, as imposing and cold as ever. Now I had no doubt that everything had just been a product of my imagination.

“How are you feeling?” he asks, without a trace of concern in his expression. I only turn my face away and remain in complete silence. He was about to say more until the doctor walks in. Alexander greets the physician politely.

“Well then, what is it that my wife had?” he asks with an imposing tone.

The doctor takes out his portfol