The doctors had delivered their verdict with clinical detachment: three months, perhaps less. The number lingered in the air like a countdown no one could escape.
Her father, Victor Hawthorne—a self-made millionaire used to solving everything with strategy and money—stood helpless for the first time in his life, watching something he couldn’t control.
The mansion was flawless, vast, and eerily silent. Not a peaceful silence, but one heavy with dread. It crept into every corner, settled at every table, and followed you into every room.
Victor had spared no expense. Specialists, cutting-edge equipment, full-time nurses, therapy animals, imported toys, soothing music—everything was there.
Everything… except hope.
Elena’s eyes looked distant, as if she were trapped behind invisible glass.
Since losing his wife, Victor had withdrawn from the world he once dominated. Business meetings, phone calls, ambitions—none of it mattered anymore. Only Elena did.
He devoted himself entirely to her care. Every day became a ritual: early mornings, untouched breakfasts, medication logs, detailed notes tracking every breath and blink—as if recording it might somehow slow time.