“End-stage heart failure; without a transplant, survival beyond six months is unlikely,” the doctor’s cold words echoed in my ears.

Walking alone down the street, my gaze was hollow. Suddenly, I made a decision and picked up my phone, dialing a number I knew by heart.

“Beep… beep…”

Elio didn’t answer. Undeterred, I tried again, only to be met with the same cold, mechanical tone.

Disappointment filled me. I should have known he wouldn’t answer. I had no idea what Elio was busy with; he hadn't been home for days and rarely answered calls.

I dragged my weary body back to our home, the one that belonged only to Elio...