He turned to his daughter, then really turned, like a man seeing his child for the first time in months.
“Elena,” he said softly, voice cracking. “Sweetheart… what did she give you?”
Elena’s lips parted. No sound came out at first, only a strangled breath.
Her gaze darted to Viven.
That single reflex said everything.
Fernando’s voice broke. “Elena, please.”
Elena stared at her father, and in the space between her fear and his desperate love, something shifted.
“Orange,” Elena whispered. “She said… I had to finish it.”
The room went silent, the kind of silence that swallowed denial whole.
Fernando stared at Viven.
And for the first time, Viven didn’t look like a savior.
She looked like a storm that had been hiding behind clear skies.
Fernando’s doubt flared into anger so fast it made his hands shake.
“Name the doctor, Viven,” he demanded. “Names. Records. Proof.”
Viven’s answers came soft and slippery.
“I don’t remember,” she said lightly, the way people speak when they expect the world to forgive them. “There were so many consultations. So much paperwork.”
Immani didn’t blink.