The night came like every other—quiet, still, the hospital hallways almost empty, with only the occasional soft shuffle of nurses' footsteps to break the silence. Giovanni sat beside Alessia's bed, watching the rhythm of her breathing, the steady beep of the heart monitor, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles over the back of her hand.

The weight of the world seemed to rest on his shoulders. There had been no change in her condition. No miracle. The hours were slipping by, and his hope dimmed a little more with each one. He had been here so long that it was almost as if the outside world didn't exist anymore. Only the sterile walls of this hospital room and the faint sound of Alessia's breath kept him tethered to the present.

He thought about everything she had been through. The life she had lived in silence, the secrets she kept buried deep inside her, the pain she had carried with no one to lean on. He thought of how close she had come to ending it all, and how much he had failed her by not being there sooner.

He leaned back in his chair, rubbing his eyes in frustration. The exhaustion was becoming unbearable, but he refused to leave. Not now. Not while she was still here.

Suddenly, the stillness of the room was broken by a slight shift in Alessia's hand. Giovanni's heart skipped a beat, and he leaned forward, watching closely. For a moment, he thought it might be nothing. But then, her fingers twitched, just the smallest movement.

Giovanni's breath caught in his throat. Could this be it?

He leaned even closer, his pulse quickening. "Alessia?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "Alessia, it's me. Giovanni. Please... please wake up."

Her eyelids fluttered slightly, then stilled. Giovanni held his breath. He couldn't be sure. It could have been nothing.

But then, a moment later, her hand shifted again—just a little—and he saw the faintest movement of her lips, as though she were trying to say something. His heart raced. She wasn't gone. She was still fighting.

Giovanni felt the overwhelming urge to shout for a nurse, but he didn't. He couldn't. Not yet. He had to believe. He had to hold on to the hope that she was going to wake up.

Tears stung at the back of his eyes as he squeezed her hand gently, his voice breaking. "I'm here, Alessia. I'm not going anywhere. Please, come back to us."

Her fingers stirred again, and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, Giovanni allowed himself to feel something close to hope. Maybe, just maybe, they would make it through this.

Maybe she would wake up.