Everyone Is Connected

Chapter 15 I wish you the best for the rest of your life

Sun Therapy

Time in Rio flowed like the warm waves crashing endlessly against the shore. Two weeks had passed since I arrived—two weeks filled with sunshine, with normalcy. But also two weeks where my heart remained heavy.

I was now Alice Prescott. My mother was Carmen Prescott. Our past had no place in this new life, yet it never truly left me. I had a phone, a laptop, freedom—but everything felt distant, as if I were watching my own life from behind glass.

Every morning, I woke up as if emerging from a deep fog.

Bzzzz... bzzzzzzz

My phone vibrated beside me, but I ignored it for a moment. The sun had already risen, casting soft golden light across my room. The warmth was comforting, yet somehow numbing. I sighed, stretched, and pressed "Stop" to silence the alarm.

Five hours of sleep. Again.

I tried to close my eyes for a little longer, but it didn't work. Instead, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, my mind spiraling in endless circles.

Leon.

I hadn't spoken to him since I got here. No contact with anyone from the BSAA. It was safer this way—for me, for him. But knowing he was out there somewhere, not knowing if I was safe, not knowing if I was okay... it gnawed at me.

I forced myself to get up. My body felt heavy, but I ignored it. I pulled on white shorts and a loose T-shirt, grabbed my headphones, and let my playlist run.

La amour de ma vie by Billie Eilish played softly.

I drank a quick coffee—strong and black, like every morning. Maybe it was part of the reason I couldn't sleep. Or maybe it was the thoughts constantly circling in my head. As I stared out the window, I saw my mother already working downstairs at the café. She took the morning shifts, while I handled the bar in the evenings.

It was a quiet, almost peaceful life.

Almost.

The drive to therapy was calm. I watched the passing landscape—the deep green of palm trees, the bright facades of the buildings, the lively streets filled with people going about their day. I was part of it, yet I felt like a stranger.

Señora Marques was an extraordinary woman. A French therapist who had once helped my mother escape from Umbrella. She understood. She knew what it meant to live in this world.

The sessions had been difficult at first. But little by little, it got easier. I talked about Leon. About the fear. About the Blackwall, which still felt like a dark veil over my memories.

"It's normal to feel lost, Alice," she often told me.

But was it really?

I parked in front of the small clinic, took a deep breath, and stepped out. Maybe today would be better. Maybe the fog would lift someday.

Maybe.

The waiting room was quiet, bathed in warm afternoon light filtering through the open windows. A ceiling fan hummed softly, circulating the scent of jasmine and old books. It reminded me of home—not the one in Rio, but the one I had lost.

I sat there, waiting for Señora Marques to call me in, scrolling mindlessly through my phone. I never texted anyone. There was no one to text. But sometimes, I opened my contacts and stared at a familiar name.

Leon S. Kennedy.

I had memorized every digit of his number. I knew I could reach him. But I wouldn't.

Not because I didn't want to.

Because I couldn't.

He was safer this way. We both were.