The building was old. Too white for the hour. Inside, the air smelled of disinfectant, medicine, and exhaustion. The fluorescent lights left no shadows—everything was exposed, even what people wanted to hide.
Maria stepped inside, inhaled deeply, clasped her hands for a second—as if gathering courage—and disappeared down the corridors.
Andrew stood outside, feeling ridiculous.
What am I doing?
This wasn’t him. He’d never been this man.
And yet his feet moved on their own.
He followed her to the third floor.
Maria stopped in front of a door. She didn’t go in.
She placed her palm against the wall, closed her eyes…
And began to pray.
There were no audible words. Just a faint movement of lips. But her entire body held the prayer—tense shoulders, furrowed brow, breath trapped as if she feared it might betray her.
This wasn’t a gentle prayer.
It was raw. Repeated. Desperate.
Andrew stood against the cold wall, powerless. In that hallway—where money meant nothing—he felt something unfamiliar: the certainty that his influence was useless against whatever this woman was facing.