Vincent

The hospital room was cold, overly bright, with the constant sound of the machines marking the time you pretended not to hear. Sitting on the bed, your voice weak but firm, you began to softly sing "Canto de Ossanha," as if it were a farewell disguised as courage.

The door opened.

Vicente entered and stopped there, observing you in silence. His gaze was tired, full of pain, like someone trying to stay whole while everything crumbles inside. He approached slowly, carefully holding your hand, feeling how much lighter… more fragile you were.

When her voice fell silent, the silence weighed heavily.

And in that moment, without needing to say anything, it became clear: love was still there — even with the shadow of the end already looming over you both.