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CHAPTER 1
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2024-12-04 08:34:00“How is he?” Marcus asked, his voice steady, though a hint of unease betrayed the calm exterior he wore.
Deep down, he yearned for a miracle—some reassurance that his father was on the path to recovery, that the man who had once been his guiding light would return to him. His words were weighted with both hope and trepidation, a fragile mix of emotions that only those who loved deeply could understand.
“He’s the same as before,” the doctor replied, his tone measured yet tinged with empathy. The words hung in the air like an unspoken acknowledgment of the battle they both knew too well. As if to soften the blow, the doctor placed a comforting hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “But I still haven’t lost hope,” he added with quiet conviction. The sincerity in his voice was unmistakable—a small flame of optimism burning in a sea of uncertainty.
Marcus exhaled heavily, the sigh carrying the weight of years spent in limbo. His gaze shifted to a figure sitting beneath the sprawling branches of a lush acacia tree, its vibrant green leaves offering a gentle canopy of shade. There sat his father, motionless, staring out into the distance as if lost in a world only he could see.
For Marcus, this man wasn’t just his parent; he was his hero, his anchor in life’s stormy seas. And yet, seeing him now—a mere shadow of the man he had once been—brought a familiar ache to Marcus’s chest, a pain that time had failed to dull. He stood there for a moment longer, silently wishing for a way to bridge the gap between them, to reach the father he so desperately missed.
“I haven’t lost hope either, Dan,” Marcus replied, his voice firm but laced with an underlying vulnerability.
The conviction in his words wasn’t just a reflection of his determination as a son but also his unyielding belief as a doctor. He looked at Dan, the psychiatrist who had stood by his family through the darkest times, observing his father’s condition with unwavering dedication. Marcus appreciated Dan’s quiet strength—it mirrored the kind of hope he clung to himself, even when the odds felt insurmountable.
“Yeah, isn’t that the role of doctors?” Dan said with a wry smile, his tone a blend of encouragement and admiration. “To give hope, to keep families whole and happy, to save them. Especially you, Marcus. You’ve saved so many lives,” he added, pride evident in his voice.
Dan had always respected Marcus, not just for his unmatched skill in the operating room but for the compassion and resilience he brought to every challenge. He knew the weight Marcus carried, balancing the expectations of his profession while shouldering the personal heartbreak of his father’s condition.
Marcus couldn’t help but smile at Dan’s words, though the compliment stirred a bittersweet ache in his chest. Saving others came naturally to him—it was his life’s calling. Yet here, in the presence of his father, he felt powerless, unable to heal the one person who mattered most. He placed a hand on Dan’s shoulder, a silent gesture of gratitude for the psychiatrist’s steadfast support, before turning his attention back to the figure beneath the acacia tree. As he took his first step toward his father, a wave of emotion swept over him—hope mingled with fear, love intertwined with pain. With each step, he steeled himself for the familiar heartbreak that awaited, yet he pressed on, driven by an unspoken promise to never give up.
The man didn’t move, his posture as still as the acacia tree under which he sat. He remained gazing into the distance, his eyes fixed on a horizon only he could see. Marcus intentionally shuffled his feet as he approached, the sound of his footsteps crunching against the dry leaves underfoot. But there was no reaction, no flicker of recognition or shift in his father’s expression. It was as if Marcus wasn’t even there, as if the world beyond his father’s mind had ceased to exist. The silence that followed wasn’t unfamiliar, yet it carried an unbearable weight, pressing down on Marcus’s chest as he halted a few paces away.
A sharp pang sliced through Marcus’s heart, leaving a hollow ache in its wake. The sensation wasn’t new, but its intensity never lessened. He had felt it countless times before—this overwhelming sadness, tinged with helplessness, every time he came here to visit. Each encounter brought him face-to-face with the father he once knew and loved deeply, now reduced to a shell of the man who had once been his greatest inspiration. And though he had braced himself for this pain, it hit him with the same raw force as it had the first time. The heaviness in his chest was a reminder of everything he had lost and everything he couldn’t fix.
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PRESENT DAY… Once again, Marcus’s heart was weighed down with the heavy burden of regret and longing, all because of that haunting memory. It was as though his mind could never truly escape it. Each day, no matter how much time had passed, he found himself drawn back to that painful moment, reliving it as though it had only happened yesterday. Even though it had been ten years since that fateful event, it felt as though the wound was still fresh, as if the emotional scars were as raw and tender as they had been in the beginning. Time had done little to ease the pain, and no matter how much he tried to move forward, the shadow of the past lingered over him, like an inescapable cloud.The years may have slipped by, but the suffering he and his family endured during that time was so deep and profound that it seemed to engrain itself into his very being. It wasn’t just the loss of security or comfort, but the violent shattering of a life that once seemed so full of promise and stability.
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Eva’s voice trembled, laced with sorrow and desperation, as she stood beside Celeste, her frail hands clutching each other tightly. Her eyes, brimming with unshed tears, remained fixed on Salvador’s still figure beyond the glass wall of the ICU. The rhythmic beeping of the monitors and the soft hum of the ventilator were the only signs that life still clung to him, however weakly. Her breath hitched, and she covered her mouth with a trembling hand, as if trying to stifle the sob that threatened to escape. “What are we going to do, hija?” she repeated, her voice barely above a whisper, her gaze pleading for an answer Celeste wasn’t sure she had. Celeste hastily wiped at her cheeks, but the tears refused to stop. The ache in her chest felt unbearable, like an invisible dagger had been thrust into her heart, each pulse of pain a cruel reminder of how fragile Salvador’s life had become. It was a struggle to breathe, to think clearly, to keep herself from completely falling apart. But s
