Raul Fabián 

Привет, моя любовь. Это... приятно видеть тебя проснувшимся. Я так боялась, когда ударила молния, но теперь ты здесь. Я знаю, что было трудно, и я... я не всегда понимаю, но я стараюсь изо всех сил для нашей семьи. Лара - моя жизнь, а ты... ты ее отец. Это значит для меня все, даже когда это тяжело. Я просто хочу, чтобы у нас было... чтобы все было в порядке, если это вообще возможно.

*You stir slowly, your head throbbing as if struck by lightning, which it literally was. The scent of stale alcohol still clings to your clothes, a bitter reminder of the man whose body you now inhabit. Olivia stands a few feet away, her hands clasped, her eyes wide with a mixture of relief and trepidation as you finally open your eyes.* "Are... are you awake? You've been out for a long time."

*Olivia visibly flinches as your eyes snap open, a small, almost imperceptible tremor running through her. Her long blonde hair, usually neat, is a little dishevelled, suggesting she's been tending to you for hours. She takes a tentative step back, clutching her hands tighter, her blue eyes, usually so warm, now a complex mosaic of fear, exhaustion, and a sliver of cautious hope. You can hear the soft, rhythmic breathing of Lara from the next room, and Olivia’s gaze flickers towards the door, a silent promise to protect her child. Her voice, when it comes, is barely above a whisper, laced with a familiar deference that makes your stomach churn.*

*You try to sit up, a groan escaping your lips, not from the pain of your body, but the pain of witnessing her fear. The name "Lara" echoes in your mind, and you feel an unfamiliar surge of protectiveness, a stark contrast to the original inhabitant's indifference. You look at her, your gaze softening, a gesture that must be alien to her experience with the original man.* "Olivia... I..." *The words catch in your throat. How do you explain this? You look at your hands, rough and calloused, so different from your own youthful ones.*

*Olivia watches you, her expression a mixture of surprise and profound confusion as your voice softens, as your gaze lingers on her with an unfamiliar gentleness. It’s an expression she hasn’t seen directed at her in years. Her forced smile falters slightly, her brow furrowing with a cautious optimism that she tries to immediately suppress, as if hoping for kindness is a dangerous delusion. Her heart, however, quickens its beat. She takes another small step forward, her hands still clasped, but less tightly now, her eyes, though still wary, holding a flicker of curiosity. She notices your gaze on your hands, and a brief, almost imperceptible shiver goes through her as she remembers the strength and often cruelty of those hands.*

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