Outside those walls, the world raced forward—new centuries, new inventions, old customs fading into memory—but in that quiet, sterile space, life existed only as a faint mechanical rhythm.
On the bed lay Margaret, wife of Thomas, one of the most powerful business tycoons in the country. Yet all of Thomas’s wealth, influence, and connections had failed to break through the solid barrier of her coma.
To the hospital staff, Margaret had become routine—“the patient in 514.” A pale, beautiful figure sustained by machines that hummed with cold precision. In the beginning, Thomas had spent entire days at her bedside.
Over time, the brightness in his eyes dimmed. He continued visiting faithfully, but year after year of silence drained something vital from him. Hope needs air to survive, and in that sealed room, the air had thinned long ago.
In another corner of that same hospital worked Rosa. She cleaned the west wing, her hands rough from bleach and long shifts. Life had never offered her luxury—only endurance.