PART 1: THE SUMMER THAT BROKE ME It started in late May, just as the blossoms fell and the heat started creeping in — subtle at first, like a whisper of what's to come. I lived in a small apartment on the top floor, facing west. In spring, it was my sanctuary. In summer? A sun-soaked oven. By June, I was already dreading every afternoon. The sun would beat down like punishment. I’d come home from work, slide the window open, turn on the fan, and pray for a breeze. There never was one. Just still, suffocating air. My fan circulated heat like a convection oven. I drank iced water. I took cold showers. I even wet a towel and laid it across my chest like some desperate home remedy. Nothing worked. Sleep became the first casualty. I’d lie on top of my sheets, tossing, turning, sweat pooling under my back. I’d get up, pace, open the fridge for no reason, just to feel the cold air for a second. Sometimes I just sat in front of it. I grew more tired. More irritable. I snapped at frien...