*ADELINE*
My heart raced as I sat beside Vincenzo's hospital bed, his pale face eerily tranquil against the crisp white sheets. The sterile scent of antiseptic hung heavily in the air, mingling with the muted beeps of the machines that sustained him. I held his hand gently, as if he were a china doll, fragile and exquisite. His fingers felt so much warmer than they looked, and that small spark of warmth ignited a flicker of hope within me.
It had been a long week—an unforgiving whirlwind of fear and anger, tears and sleepless nights. My own injuries were minor, a bump on my head and a couple of cuts that stung like angry hornets, but they felt utterly irrelevant in the shadow of Vincenzo's severe condition. The doctors assured me he was healing, yet every time I looked at his bruised bod
