"She didn't enter a room. She changed its temperature."

Long before cancer ever touched our lives, Angé was already teaching people how to live. Not loudly. Not theatrically. But by the way she moved through the world — with wonder, with generosity, and with that unmistakable brightness that turned ordinary moments into something golden.

She laughed easily, but never carelessly. She made strangers feel like friends, and friends feel like they mattered. Children adored her. Old people trusted her. Animals followed her. And somehow, so did the sun.

She spoke to beggars on the street. She spoke to security guards no one else even noticed. It was not unusual to walk down a busy road and have to stop — not because she was lost or distracted — but because she had paused to talk to someone sweeping the sidewalk or pushing a trolley. She saw people. Especially the ones the world tried to look past.

There was no performance in her kindness. No effort. It was simply who she was — to see, to stop, to listen — and to make sure no one felt invisible in her presence.