The golden light of a Milanese morning bled through the thin curtains of Angela’s bedroom, painting pale streaks across the peeling wallpaper. It was a bright, optimistic sun, the kind that usually heralded a fresh start, but for Angela, it felt like a mockery. She lay frozen on her mattress, eyes wide and rimmed with red, staring at the ceiling. Sleep had been a stranger for three nights.

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the sterile white walls of the hospital and the fragile, translucent skin of her grandmother. The doctors had been blunt. The surgery was necessary, the cost was astronomical, and the clock was ticking. The hospital bills sat on her bedside table, a stack of paper that felt heavier than a mountain.