The penthouse felt like a fancy mausoleum without Rosa's presence—empty, cold, and sterile, a huge echo chamber. Samson moved through the space, his strides long and restless, each footfall a silent thud on the polished, ridiculously expensive floor.
His mind was a runaway train, the images of those damning medical bills, the prescriptions, and those cold hospital reports flashing behind his eyes like a broken PowerPoint presentation. He couldn't shake them; they were like tiny little gremlins doing a tap dance in his brain. He was fully aware of her struggles now, the crushing burden she'd been carrying, the silent weight she’d borne all alone.
He understood now why she was so damn tired, why she was so sad, why she had this desperate fire to protect her family—a raw determination tha
