I glanced at the clock. It was exactly midnight.
I got up and walked toward the door, my heart beginning to race. Looking through the curtain, I saw her—Carolina. She was standing there, her white robe soaked and her hair messy, with a look on her face that I had never seen before: fear, confusion, and something else I couldn’t quite place. Her eyes were wide, and she seemed disoriented.
I opened the door, concerned. “Carolina?” I asked, my voice gentle. “What’s going on?”
“Daniel,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “There’s water everywhere in my kitchen. It’s gushing out. I don’t know what to do.”
At that moment, I could see the panic in her eyes. I knew she wasn’t one to ask for help easily. For years, I had watched her keep to herself, a woman who prided herself on independence. So to see her like this, looking so lost, was enough to snap me out of my exhaustion.
