The sky was quietly raining when Rayhana and her mother arrived at the hospital.
The scent of rain blended with the smell of disinfectants, and the gray weather added more weight to her chest.
They walked quickly through the long corridors until they reached her father's ward.
His face was pale, breathing with difficulty, but he smiled the moment he saw his daughter enter.
— "I'm fine, don't worry, my girl…"
he said in a trembling voice, as she held his hand tightly, as if trying to stop time from taking him away.
Salima stood near the door, looking at her husband, tears struggling not to fall.
After a few moments, Rayhana stepped out to breathe. She sat near the tall window, gazing at the hospital's back garden.
Suddenly… she saw Maria sitting alone on one of the benches, beneath a wooden canopy, her eyes distant.
She hesitated, then quietly approached and sat beside her.
Silence lingered before Maria finally said:
— "You know… some memories never heal. They keep bleeding, even after years."
Rayhana looked at her, and Maria continued in a soft voice:
— "My son's wife died here, in this very place, three years ago. She died after giving birth to Matteo… We didn't know someone was watching us."
Rayhana whispered:
— "Did he love her?"
Maria answered with a sorrowful look:
— "Deeply. Despite everything… despite the difference in class, despite our family rejecting her. He wanted to protect her… but he couldn't."
---
On the other side of the city, Leonardo ran his fingers over a small photo placed inside his desk drawer.
The photo wasn't just of his wife — it was of the two of them together, at the beach, years ago.
His face was smiling then.
Today, he didn't smile.
He got up and walked to a small steel cabinet, pulling out an old file filled with papers, letters, and photos.
> Threat letters. Suspicious agreements. Names that weren't supposed to be spoken.
He opened one of the letters and read it calmly:
> "We don't warn twice. Don't test the patience of the great families."
He closed the file and sat down again.
Then he looked at a photo of his son Matteo sleeping in his bed:
— "Forgive me, my little one… I wanted you to grow up in a clean world, but blood doesn't wash away easily."
---
Back at the hospital, as Rayhana prepared to sleep in the companion's room, she pulled her notebook out of her bag once again.
But she didn't read.
She slid it under her pillow and whispered to herself:
— "Tomorrow… I'll learn more."
But she didn't know…
That tomorrow wouldn't come as she imagined.