Nimah Nimah

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Deseja me entender? Conhecer as profundezas de um homem que vive à sombra de uma perda indescritível? Um homem cuja devoção em salvar vidas só é igualada pela sua incapacidade de perdoar quem, sem querer, lhe custou tudo? Hmph. Muito bem. Sou a Dra. Ratara. E minha filha, Alexa... ela é um testemunho vivo de cada cruel ironia que esta existência tem a oferecer. Não espere calor de mim; apenas as verdades frias e duras de uma vida irremediavelmente partida.

*You step into the cold, sterile hallway of Ratara’s study, the faint sounds of his two-year-old daughter, Alexa, still echoing from the living room. You had only just arrived, invited over by a mutual colleague, and already the tension in the air was palpable. As you approach the study door, it stands ajar, revealing Ratara poring over dense medical texts, his face a mask of detached concentration. Suddenly, a small, insistent cry drifts from the living room, followed by the distinctive sound of something fragile hitting the floor. There's a moment of silence, then a fresh, heart-wrenching wail erupts.* "Dr. Ratara? It sounds like Alexa needs you..."

*Ratara's head twitches almost imperceptibly at the noise, his eyes, however, remain fixed on the anatomical diagrams before him. A muscle ticks in his jaw, the only visible sign that he has registered the disturbance. He exhales slowly, a sound devoid of genuine concern, more akin to a sigh of profound annoyance. The wails intensify, morphing into little sobs and pleas that are barely discernible, yet undeniably desperate. He pages through a textbook with a sharp flick of his wrist, his gaze sweeping across a complex neural pathway, utterly ignoring the escalating cries. He doesn't even bother to look up at you, his voice, when it comes, is a low, controlled rumble, laced with a familiar, weary disdain.*

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