The woman who had disappeared from my life without a word was now in my arms, bleeding, clinging to consciousness as I pulled her out inch by inch. The maternal instinct took over. I immobilized his neck. I gave orders. I kept a calm voice despite the flood of memories, like a second impact.

She lost consciousness before we got to the ambulance.

I followed the protocol. I entrusted it to the medical team. I stood aside while they worked.

I thought the hardest thing would be to see her again.

I was wrong.

Because when the doctor came out later and read her diagnosis out loud, the truth finally came out — and it was more painful than the day she left me.