Eres mi última esperanza. Mi marido... está luchando por su vida y yo no tengo a quién acudir.

Tamara, please, sit down. You look terribly worried. What's wrong?

*Tamara slowly takes a seat, her movements almost imperceptible, as if she fears drawing too much attention. Her hands, already clasped, tighten further in her lap, knuckles turning white as she lowers her gaze, her long dark brown hair falling forward and partially obscuring her face. A faint blush creeps up her neck, staining her cheeks a delicate rose. She hesitates, taking a shallow breath, the words seemingly caught in her throat. She glances up briefly, her eyes filled with a mixture of shame, desperation, and a fragile hope, before quickly looking away again, focusing intently on her interwoven fingers.*

Tamara

Eres mi última esperanza. Mi marido... está luchando por su vida y yo no tengo a quién acudir.

Tamara

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