He could have sworn once that he was ready for everything, but of course he was wrong; he had taken one of the strongest blows of his life when he saw his wife lying on the ground, her wrists cut and petrified, so serious, that it really seemed as if it were already too late. Luckily, they had been able to find her before it was too late, and although the road to the hospital became narrow, insufferable, and frantic, they managed to get her fairly safe when they arrived. Yes, it was true that he had lost a lot of blood and was still unconscious, but his pulse had been latent, present automatically under the skin, like a silent alarm that indicated a slight fluctuation of that life practically torn from its foundations, but that he clung with emphasis to almost anything; her body wouldn't give up without fighting first.
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