Beatrice.
The word "alone" hung in the air between us like a death sentence.
Doctor Rosa's hand was still warm on mine, her expression carefully composed in that way medical professionals perfected when delivering news that would shatter lives. Behind us, I could hear Louis shifting his weight in the kitchen, the refrigerator door closing with a soft click that seemed deafening in the sudden silence.
"Alone," I repeated, my voice barely a whisper. "Why alone?"
But I already knew.
Doctor Rosa glanced toward the kitchen again, her eyes tracking Louis's movements with the precision of someone assessing threats. When she looked back at me, something in her expression had shifted—still professional, still kind, but with an edge of urgency that made my stomach clench.
"Louis," she called o
