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55-145 / II. No tomba può tenere il mio corpo lì sotto. Mi trascinerò a casa da lei

<< Her voice faltered, and the images of Leif’s face flashed behind her closed eyelids. She could remember his touch, his smile, the way his laugh had filled her heart with warmth. But it was all slipping away, fading like a distant memory. And now, in the cold, harsh reality of the hospital room, he was nowhere to be found. It was so unlike him.

Her father shifted on the other side of the bed, his eyes refusing to meet hers for too long. He twisted the fabric of his shirt in his hands, looking uncomfortable, as though he were struggling to find the right words. “Sweetheart, please... it’s all going to be okay. You’re safe now.”

Anita’s chest tightened, her breath sharp. “Safe?” she repeated, her voice trembling. “Safe where? Here?” She waved a weak hand at the sterile walls of the room, the machines beeping around her, the scent of disinfectant invading every breath. "What happened to me? And where’s Leif?”

Her mother looked at her then, the sorrow in her eyes barely contained. She opened her mouth, but the words didn’t come. Instead, she closed it again, pressing her lips together as though the truth was too heavy to bear.

The silence in the room grew unbearable. The longer they refused to give her an answer, the more suffocating it became. Anita’s hands balled into fists by her sides, her nails digging into the tender skin of her palms. She wanted to scream, to demand the truth, to demand him. He wouldn’t let her suffer through this.

But they just looked at her—looked at her like she was a fragile thing, a miracle they couldn’t quite believe had woken up.

And in that moment, it hit her—the cold, horrifying realization that no matter how many times she asked, no one was going to tell her what she needed to know.

This wasn’t just a hospital room. This was a prison of unanswered questions and lost memories.

And it felt like the beginning of a nightmare that she couldn’t escape.