He leaned over his dy.ing wife and said things he would never have dared to say to her face before. But he had no idea that someone was hiding under the bed and hearing everything…
He had visited the hospital countless times, each trip leaving him with the same blend of irritation and exhaustion. Cyril always opted for the stairs over the elevator—not for fitness, but to avoid small talk, sympathetic glances, or the obligation to feign concern. Today, he brought a small bouquet of white roses. Larissa, his wife,…