**Stefano’s POV**
I don’t know how many hours I spent glued to that chair. The hospital reception was silent, except for the steady, buzzing hum of the fluorescent lights above. The sound was sharp and constant, as if mocking the chaotic mess of my own pulse. I looked at the clock. 1:30 a.m.
I couldn’t believe this was really happening.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it again —Elena’s small body jerking on that bed, her head snapping against the pillow.
My hands were cold. My throat felt tight. I didn’t know whether to scream, cry, or pray. I didn't even know if praying made sense for a man like me. My hands were stained with blood; what right did I have to ask for a miracle?
The last time I felt fear like this was the night my father was rushed to the hospital with blood soaking
