Ten minutes later, the door opened again. This time there was no perfume, no heels. Only soft footsteps.
Maria.
She entered without the bucket or mop, wearing only a sweater over her uniform and an exhausted expression.
She sat beside the bed like someone visiting a relative.
“I don’t know if you can really hear me,” she said softly, “but today I felt like maybe you could… and I want to believe that.”
She adjusted his pillow, covered his hand, and smiled sadly.
“I saw your children again. They’re such beautiful kids… Noah told me that if you don’t wake up, no one will teach him how to kick with his left foot. And Sophie…” Maria swallowed hard. “She gave me a drawing for you.”
She pulled out a folded sheet of paper and placed it on the table. Alexander couldn’t see it, but he imagined it clearly.
“She said, ‘Leave it for my daddy so he won’t be scared.’”
Maria fell silent for a few seconds.
“Don’t give up, Mr. Hayes. You’re not alone. There are still good people here… and your children are waiting for you.”
Then, in a gesture he would never forget, she touched his forehead with her fingertips—warm, human, present.