Sunt_betiv_pe_pat_de_moarte -

Ion let out a wet, gravelly laugh that turned into a cough. "My heart stopped forty years ago when your mother left. This? This is just the engine finally running out of fuel."

He took one last, shallow breath, his grip loosening. He died as he lived: caught between a bitter truth and a sweet, numbing lie. sunt_betiv_pe_pat_de_moarte

He reached out, his fingers brushing Elena’s hand. For a second, the fog cleared. He saw her—the life he had partially missed, the daughter who had stayed despite every broken promise. Ion let out a wet, gravelly laugh that turned into a cough

He wasn't just dying; he was profoundly, stubbornly drunk. It was his final act of rebellion against a world that had tried to sober him up for decades. In his clouded mind, the hospital room had transformed. The white sheets were the snowdrifts of his youth in the village; the IV drip was the rhythmic ticking of the clock in his grandfather’s kitchen. This is just the engine finally running out of fuel