**Elena’s POV**

I had forgotten what fresh air felt like after two weeks inside this hospital. I sat beside my father again, my fingers wrapped around his hand, his skin feeling colder today, and it scared me.

I leaned in closer and whispered, “Papà, per favore non morire.” (Papà, please don’t die) My throat tightened, and tears spilled out before I could even try to hold them back. I wiped my face with the back of my hand, gripping his hands tighter, trying to transfer my own ...