I left without thinking twice and ran after Simone, jumping the wall separating our houses. I went to Dona Cláudia’s room, where she lay in bed, propped against pillows. Her face—normally calm, full of life and strength—was pale and drawn, showing clear pain. One hand pressed her chest; the other gripped the bedsheet.

“Dona Cláudia!” I approached and took the hand gripping the sheet. “It’s going to be okay. Did you call for help?” I asked Simone.

“Yes,” she let a tear ...