Every summer, she discreetly left fresh water for passing motorcyclists, a small act of kindness that no one questioned. It was only later that the heartbreaking reason for this ritual was discovered; by then, it was too late for anyone to react.

“Oh,” she said softly.

“Well… it’s hot outside.”

Marcus laughed softly.

” It’s true. “

She shrugged slightly.

“People are thirsty.”

Marcus hesitated.

He expected more explanation.

But she seemed perfectly comfortable with the idea of ​​leaving it at that.

Yet something in her expression — the way she looked at the road and then quickly looked away — made him think she wasn’t telling a story.

He nodded politely and returned to his bicycle.

But this brief conversation remained in his memory.

August arrived like a hammer blow.

Temperatures climbed higher than usual that year, and the city issued several heatwave alerts advising residents to stay indoors during the afternoon.

Despite this, the bottles continued to appear.

Every morning, without exception.

Even on days when the humidity was so stifling that it was difficult to breathe.

But Marcus began to notice small details that bothered him.

Clara was walking more slowly now.

Sometimes she would stop in the middle of the street.

He saw her steady herself, placing a hand against the wall before finishing her act.

Another morning, she sat on her veranda for almost ten minutes, breathing heavily.