**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 felt 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 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 warmth to him. I thought of all the calls I ignored after the wedding, all the times I let him go to voicemail because I was too angry.
I thought I had more time to fix things, but now... now I don't really know.
I pressed my forehead against his arm. "Please wake up," I whispered, my voice trembling. "I'm so sorry, Pa
