The sun spilled gently through the tall, narrow window of the VIP room, casting a warm amber glow across the polished floor. Machines hummed in quiet rhythm beside Katherine’s bed, an orchestra of steady beeping, sighing air tubes, and soft murmurs of life preserved.

Carolina entered with a basin of warm water and a folded towel in hand, her purse slung over one shoulder. She wore soft jeans, a simple blouse, and her hair tied up. Her face was weary but patient, bearing the quiet resilience ...