NEXT DAY Soft afternoon light filtered into the guest room as Roberto’s eyelids fluttered, thin and brittle. The world came back in fragments,the sound of the air filter, the faint scent of antiseptic, the cushioned rustle of sheets as his hand shifted. A drip monitor ticked quietly beside him.He breathed deeply, then coughed,throat dry, voice cracked. He turned his head toward the window and saw movement. Antonio stood at the doorway, plate in hand, cautious.Roberto’s brow furrowed. He tried to speak again, voice even more fragile. “Antonio…”Antonio stepped forward, placing the tray gently on a side table. On it: chicken soup steaming in a porcelain bowl, soft bread rolls, a small salad, and fresh water with lemon. He drained his eyes at the sight of the frail man in the bed.“You’re awake,” Antonio whispered and cleared his throat. “Gio told me yesterday it was rising odds… I prayed you’d come back. See where your stupidity got you” He lifted the tray, adjusting the hospital bed
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