B-ronken-R-ing 159...

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All was silent as Inés gazed at Cárcel's sleeping form, his face serene. It was rare for her to rise before him, and rarer still to simply watch him as he slept. She found herself captivated by this unfamiliar moment, a curious blend of emotions stirring within her. The anticipation that he had once described in his letter-the one he always felt as he waited for her to rise each morning-finally made sense to her now.

Her thoughts wandered to one particular morning etched in her memory. It had been the day of their little trip to Admiral Calderon's hunting ground. She had snapped out of sleep unusually early to pack her belongings and change. She was bouncing with the same exuberance she had once felt as a child on the day her grandmother took her on a trip. She still remembered how she had jumped out of bed in the early morning and shaken Luciano awake with all the fervor of her youthful excitement.

You brought me such happiness, Cárcel... She lowered her lips to his hand that lay beside his pillow and gently kissed his fingertips. A melancholy shadow suddenly crept into her eyes, and she quickly glanced down as if she wanted to hide it from him.

From the mist of memories clouding her mind, a voice emerged-her own, yet strangely young and full of venomous resentment. "I never wished to bear your child, Escalante."

The mere recollection of her own words struck her with a pang of anxiety, sharp and bitter, as if she were holding a knife between her lips, afraid to speak lest it cut her. But then she felt like she had deceived him by stabbing him in the back and pretending like she knew nothing of it.

She did not wish to remember anymore, to bury the memories that threatened to unravel the fragile peace she had found. She knew that the truth would only bring more pain, changing everything she had struggled to preserve. All she desired was the blissful ignorance of those untouched by the tragedies of life and death, to live as everything were new and untainted by the past.

After all, she had already suffered the weight of two lifetimes. All she wanted was the innocence to pursue happiness without hesitation, to live each day free from the shackles of regret. She wanted the same for Cárcel-that he would never have to know about everything she had broken and all of the misfortune she had brought upon herself. She wished that he had never been forced to witness the terrible ruins of her past, and that their paths had never intertwined in any of her other lifetimes. She knew it was a selfish wish, but she couldn't bear the thought of losing the peace that he brought her.

It was like he had a special power that could erase all of the painful memories from her mind, even if it was only for a moment. When she was with him, everything felt new. She could truly live in the present, free from the chains of her painful past. With him, she could let herself believe that she was experiencing the twenty-fourth year of her life for the very first time.

At last, her clock was moving forward. She could finally be "normal," no longer trudging through life with a death wish like a man who had been imprisoned for countless years. She wanted to live.

The realization nearly crushed her. I don't want to die, she thought, her teeth sinking into her lower lip as she swallowed a tearful breath. She didn't care if she would end up dying from some illness or accident, or if it would be the most peaceful and soothing death that she had ever experienced. She wanted to cling onto the life that she had for a little longer... a few more months, no, a few more years.

I wish to stay with you, Cárcel. It matters not where I am, so long as I am with you. I want to be by your side as you grow old...

It didn't matter if they had to stay in Mendoza until their final days, as long as they were together.

Perhaps then, she could see herself through Cárcel's eyes and convince herself that this was her first and only lifetime. Perhaps she could finally "live" and grow old for the very first time, believing that the time they had shared in their small house was all that mattered-that everything else had been a nightmare and a delusion, and that she had suffered over a foolish dream.

Suddenly, the voice from her memories broke through again, sending a painful throb through her heart. "It is awful that you are so fond of me. I despise you. I despise all of this..."

The words felt like a scorching blade slicing through her throat, stealing her breath. Her peridot eyes filled with anguish as she continued to gaze at Cárcel. His chest rose and fell in the rhythm of sleep, and the sound of his steady breathing soothed her turmoil.

How did I say such vile words to his face? How was I blind to the desperation in those eyes? She reached out and gently held one of his fingers, not wanting her selfish craving for warmth to awaken him. She brushed her fingers over his palm, then caressed his long and stocky thumb. Her attention shifted to the bulky ring on his little finger-the one with the seal of House Escalante-before settling on the wedding ring next to it.

Her stray thoughts began to fade away. Carefully, she wrapped her hand around his and placed a light kiss on the back, mirroring the affectionate gesture she had often received from Cárcel himself.

He was so deep asleep that he hadn't even stirred when she moved the arm that he had tucked beneath her head before he drifted off, fearing that he would develop a cramp. It made sense that he was so exhausted. After all, he had risen early to accompany the admiral on an inspection before he ever got the chance to rest his weary body. Moreover, he had made the arduous journey back and forth from Mendoza right before leaving Calztela.

His state could also be explained by the herbs that the physician had given Inés to aid with his sleep. The night before, she had insisted he drink the tea that she had brewed from those herbs. It was quite fortunate that the tea had been so effective, since she would have resorted to shoving her own sedatives down his throat if it meant he would get a good night's sleep-and she knew just how potent they could be.

Her hand moved to his hair, brushing it away from his forehead. They had summoned a physician from El Tabeo to wrap his head again, since Cárcel insisted on washing his hair before heading to bed. The new bandages felt fresh under her fingertips. As she carefully stroked the white fabric, she recalled how the elderly physician had scolded Cárcel for not seeking medical attention right after sustaining the injury, while she stood next to him and glowered at her husband. Cárcel had timidly avoided her gaze and muttered that he had tried his best to take care of the wound.

But then the physician had pointed out the signs of infection and said, "You must have teetered on the verge of death for at least a few days."

Inés was in disbelief when she first saw the gruesome wound that had been infected and left untreated for too long. Her shock quickly turned to fury when the physician mentioned how Cárcel had been "on the verge of death". She was tempted to push him back to that brink herself. Although Cárcel denied everything, she refused to listen to him. As pieces fell into place in her mind, she finally understood why he had looked so sickly upon his return. From that moment on, she had silenced him, intent on absorbing every word the physician had to offer.

"He could have had difficulties seeking out a physician frequently during his long journey," she had said, "But still, I do not understand how his injury could have deteriorated so much." At this, the elderly physician had explained that Cárcel only had his own obsession with cleanliness to blame. According to him, Cárcel had likely washed himself quite often, preventing the wound from drying completely, and thus causing the infection-a conclusion easily drawn from his damp hair.

As Inés sighed in disbelief, causing Cárcel to glance at her nervously, the physician had continued, "I am sure that his knowledge on surface injuries surpasses that of many local physicians, given his experience in the navy. He must have tried his best to care for it, but... unfortunately, there was not much he could have done for a head injury like this one."

The physician had then elaborated that all of the physical exertion Cárcel had endured had likely exacerbated the problem, further delaying the healing process, either. It was at this point that Inés's patience had run out. She resolved to treat Cárcel like the patient that he was, even going so far as to forbid him from sitting in a chair.

After the physician departed, she had immediately confined Cárcel to the boundaries of his bed. She brewed the strongest herbal tea that she could make and ensured he drank every drop. Then, she forced him to close his eyes as she read him the most boring chapter of a philosophy essay she could find. But despite her efforts, he had remained awake, occasionally casting furtive glances at her. Only when she joined him in bed had he pulled her close, disregarding her warning to stay still, and fallen asleep so quickly.

Inés felt a belated pang of guilt when she realized that she had engaged in all sorts of sensual congress with a man who should have been resting in bed. In fact, they had made love three times before summoning the physician the night before.

She began to contemplate whether it would be better for Cárcel to take leave immediately instead of enduring the journey to Mendoza with her in the coming days. If only she had recognized his obsessive compulsion for cleanliness sooner, she would have confined him to bed forever, so that he wouldn't have to worry about being contaminated in the first place. She recalled his response when she asked how he had coped with his obsession during battle. He simply said he had "given up."While it was a tempting thought to recreate such a scenario, she couldn't turn their lovely home into a battlefield just so he could give up on staying sparkling clean.

As these thoughts circled her mind, Inés glanced at the clock every few minutes, calculating how much time she had left before Cárcel would have to rise from bed. Thankfully, she still had one hour. Resting her head on her arms, she began to study Cárcel's peaceful, slumbering face once again.

Soon, tendrils of sunlight streamed through the window and illuminated Cárcel's golden locks. Inés reached out and placed her fingers in the golden light.

Sol de me vida, the light of my life. The loving words from his letter echoed within her.

He always looked at her like she were the sun itself, even though she was anything but. Perhaps it was because his eyes held all of the light in the world.

Even now, with his eyelids shut in sleep, he lifted her from the shadows-just as he had done countless times before, helping her endure the suffering of Mendoza with the memories of Calztela's sea.

Inés placed a tender kiss on each of his closed eyes and sat up on the bed, a sense of satisfaction and contentment settling over her once more.