When she pushed open the door, her breath caught.
Daniel was on the floor.
One hand clutched his chest. The other stretched weakly toward the table. His face was pale, his breathing uneven and desperate.
He couldn’t breathe.
“Sir!” Lena cried, rushing forward.
Her eyes darted around the room until she saw it—the inhaler on the table, just out of his reach.
She moved quickly—
But a small hand got there first.
Lena turned.
Sophie.
The little girl stood there, still weak from fever, but steady.
“Sophie, no—” Lena started, but her voice faded.
Sophie had already picked up the inhaler.
Step by step, she walked toward Daniel.
She didn’t rush. She didn’t panic. She simply moved with quiet determination.
When she reached him, she knelt down and gently placed the inhaler into his trembling hand.
“Use it,” she whispered.
Daniel struggled, but with her help, he managed.
For a moment, nothing changed.
Then—
A breath.
A deep, shaky breath.
Then another.
Slowly, his chest began to rise more steadily. The tight grip on his body loosened. Color returned to his face.
He was breathing again.
Lena covered her mouth, stunned.
Sophie stayed beside him, watching quietly. Then she closed her eyes and whispered a simple prayer.