The hospital was quiet that night.
The lights in Elisa's apartment were dim, and the soft sound of the violin filled the room. She had taken the instrument out of its case hours ago, needing it like one needs air.
She played slowly, with her eyes closed, trying to push away the emotions burning in her chest.
But it wasn't working.
Eduardo's letter lay on the table, unopened.
Waiting.
With each note, the envelope seemed to grow heavier.
Why now?
Why after everything did he decide to speak up?
Elisa stopped playing.
She took off the lab coat she was still wearing from the hospital and sat on the sofa with the letter between her fingers.
For a moment, she wanted to throw it away.
But she took a deep breath... and opened it.
His handwriting was firm, as if each word had been carved with effort.
But the content...
"Elisa,
Perhaps it's too late. Perhaps you won't even read to the end.
