One golden afternoon, the sound of high heels echoed through the hospital hallway. A young woman in a red dress stepped inside, her perfume sweet and confident, her expression rehearsed. She froze when she saw Elena sitting beside the bed, calm and steady, a damp cloth in her hands.
For a long moment, the two women looked at each other — the wife who had endured, and the lover who had imagined herself chosen.
The woman’s confidence faltered. Her gaze fell to the floor. Without a word, she turned and walked away — her heels striking the tiles like a retreating storm.
Elena watched her leave and thought, No one can compete with a woman who has learned to suffer quietly for twelve years.
The Final Conversation
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