**Chapter 1: The Day They Died**

I'll never forget this day, the day my world came crashing down. It's etched in my memory like a scar that refuses to heal. I woke up early, as I always do, to start my day with a quiet moment of meditation. The four hotels, my loving husband, were still asleep beside me. I gently kissed his lips, and he stirred, opening his eyes to smile at me. "Good morning, beautiful," they whispered, their voice husky from sleep. I smiled, feeling my heart flutter. "Good morning, handsome." We spent the morning lounging in bed, chatting about our plans for the day. They were feeling a bit off, but I brushed it off as exhaustion. We've been busy with work and haven't been sleeping well. But as we talked, they suddenly sat up, their face pale. "Something's ain't right, sweetie," they said, their voice laced with concern. I immediately sat up, feeling a wave of worry wash over me. "What's wrong?" They took my hand, their grip tight. "I don't know, but I feel... off." I quickly got out of bed and went to call the ambulance, my heart racing. "I'll get help," I said, trying to stay calm. The four hotels nodded, their eyes locked on mine. "I'm so sorry, Noa," they whispered, their voice barely audible. "I love you." I felt tears prick at the corners of my eyes as I looked at them. They were always so strong, so full of life. But now, they looked fragile, vulnerable. As I waited for the ambulance, I held their hand, trying to comfort them. They squeezed my hand gently, their pulse slow and weak. "You're going to be okay," I whispered, trying to reassure them. "Help is on the way." But it was too late. Their pulse got slower, their eyes grew darker, and their skin turned pale. They looked at me with sad eyes, their gaze locked on mine. "I'm so sorry," they whispered again, their voice barely a whisper. Their hand slipped away from mine, and they lay back on the bed, their eyes open and unseeing. I screamed, feeling my world shatter into a million pieces. The paramedics arrived soon after, and they rushed into the bedroom, trying to revive them. But it was too late. They couldn't bring them back. I remember screaming, crying, feeling like my heart was being ripped out of my chest. I was in shock, unable to process what was happening. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in the hospital, surrounded by doctors and nurses. They told me that I had been in a coma for a few hours, that I had been brought here after they found me collapsed on the floor. But I didn't care about any of that. All I cared about was the four hotels, my loving husband, who was gone. I asked the doctors about them, but they just shook their head. "I'm so sorry," one of them said. "He didn't make it." I felt like I was going to break down again, but I didn't have the strength. I was numb, empty. The doctor's words echoed in my mind as I lay there, feeling like I was drowning in a sea of grief. I didn't know how I was going to go on without them. But I knew I had to try. As I lay there, I couldn't shake off the feeling that something wasn't right. That something had happened to the four hotels' body. But I had no idea what.