The procedure was scheduled quickly. Carmen didn’t hesitate for a second. She underwent the bone marrow extraction, a painful and uncomfortable process, with a smile on her lips. As she lay in the hospital bed, recovering from the anesthesia, she imagined her blood, her life, flowing into the body of that little girl she didn’t know, the daughter of the man who had given her life. It was like closing a perfect circle, a dance of destinies intertwined through time.
But there was one strict rule: anonymity. For a year, donor and recipient could not know each other’s identity. Carmen couldn’t just go and say to Diego, “It’s me, the traffic officer, the girl from the fire, the one who saved your daughter.”
She had to settle for anonymous reports. “The transplant was a success.” “The patient is responding well.” “There is complete remission.” Every little bit of news was a victory that Carmen celebrated in solitude, toasting with a glass of wine in her living room, whispering, “Live, Luna, live.”