He was never allowed to see the body.
“It was better this way,” they told him. “It was unrecognizable.”
Rosa signed it with a trembling hand.
He buried the closed coffin.
And he lived on… as best he could.
Over time, Rosa became a “special” donor.
An extremely rare blood type.
Perfect pairing.
He was always looking.
“Your blood is gold,” a doctor once told him. “I wish everyone was like you.”
Rosa felt no pride.
He froze.
Because every time I donated blood, a few weeks later I got a message:
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