At 52, I had a stroke. «The trip’s paid for, get better,» my husband said, then jetted off to the Maldives with the kids….

So the divorce is finalized? Pamela looked at the notary closely. Yes, you’re officially free, he nodded. And what about my apartment? Miguel moved out, taking his personal belongings.

The locks are still changed, as you requested. Pamela thought for a moment. You know, I don’t want to go back there.

Too many memories. Gabriel nodded understandingly. Sell it? Yes, and buy something new.

Something that’s completely mine, without the past. That same evening, Pamela told Gloria about her decision. I think I’ll move closer to the rehabilitation center, she explained.

Maybe a small studio in a new neighborhood. Something light, modern, and convenient for someone with limited mobility. That’s a good idea, her friend supported her.

New space, new life. And also, Pamela lowered her voice conspiratorially. I’ve come up with a plan.

Do you remember we talked about support for stroke survivors? Gloria nodded. I want to create a support group. At first, a small club where people who’ve had strokes can communicate, share experiences, and get advice from specialists.

Later, maybe a fund to finance rehabilitation for those who can’t afford it. That sounds wonderful, Gloria said sincerely. But it will take a lot of effort and time.

I have the time, Pamela smiled. And the strength? You know, I feel more energized than I have in years. It’s like I’ve woken up from a long sleep.

I’m with you, Gloria simply said. I’ll help however I can. The following week, Gabriel informed Pamela that he had found a buyer for her apartment.

The price was acceptable, the documents were in order, and the sale could go through soon. I’ve also found a few options for your new place, he added, showing her apartment photos on a tablet. This studio seems the most suitable, a new building with ramps and an elevator, 10 minutes from the rehabilitation center.

Pamela looked through the photos, a spacious studio with panoramic windows, light finishes, and modern furniture. Nothing unnecessary, nothing that reminded her of her past life. I’ll take it, she said decisively.

Go ahead and process the documents. A month later, Pamela was discharged from the rehabilitation center. Gabriel personally came to take her to her new home.

Gloria, who had taken the day off, joined them. When they entered the light, spacious studio, Pamela felt tears welling up in her eyes. This was her space, only hers, created for her new life.

No traces of the past, no memories that required careful handling or painful erasure. Welcome home, Gabriel smiled, handing her the keys. Pamela slowly walked through the apartment, touching the new furniture, admiring the view from the window, getting used to the idea that this was now her home.

There was no room here for regret or bitter memories. Only the future. I don’t even know how to thank you, she said, turning to her companions.

You literally saved me. Well, that’s not entirely true, Gloria smiled. You saved yourself.

We just helped a little. That same evening, after Gabriel left and Gloria stayed to help with the arrangements, there was a knock at the door. Standing on the threshold was Victoria, pale, gaunt, with an expression of stubborn determination on her face.

Mom, we need to talk, she said, instead of a greeting. Pamela, leaning on her cane, silently stepped aside, letting her daughter into the apartment. How did you find me? She asked once they settled in the living room.

It wasn’t easy, Victoria nervously fiddled with her backstrap. Your notary refused to give any information. I had to turn to contacts at the real estate agency.

Why are you here? Pamela watched her daughter carefully. Mom, this is madness, Victoria spoke quickly as if she had rehearsed her speech beforehand. You sold our apartment, divorced dad, disappeared.

I was fired from the agency because of mortgage issues, Mateo had to move in with a dorm neighbor, dad’s renting a room on the outskirts. And, Pamela asked calmly, and what? Victoria fumed. We’re your family, you can’t do this to us.

This is all because of the illness, you are not yourself. No, Victoria, Pamela shook her head. It’s precisely because of the illness that I am finally myself.

You know, when you’re lying paralyzed in a hospital and your family decides to fly to the Maldives, a lot becomes clear. Mom, we made a mistake, Victoria’s voice faltered. I admit, it was wrong…