William was running full tilt, lungs burning, heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break free from his chest. The midday air was cool, but sweat poured down his temples, stinging his eyes. The nursing home emerged from between the trees — a bleak, gray building with a dim light flickering above the door.
He didn't bother to wait for someone to open the gate. One long, desperate leap — and he was over, feet hitting the gravel hard. Without slowing, he made for the kitchen. That's where Milagros usually was.
But, as he'd feared, she wasn't there.
The air smelled strange — a mix of boiled milk, disinfectant… and pine. Yes, that faint woody scent was hers. Familiar. Intimate. He breathed in deeper, following it to the narrow staircase leading down to the lower corridor — her room was there.
He knocked. Once. Twice.
"Milagros! It's me — William!" His voice shook, not just from exhaustion.
Silence.
