Elena stops in the doorway. The boy lies in a hospital-style bed surrounded by untouched toys. He is thin, pale, his breathing supported by an oxygen machine. Medication bottles line a nearby table.
“Hello, Oliver. I’m Elena,” she says softly.
“Where’s Aunt Claire?” he asks.
“She had to leave, but I’m here now.”
“You’ll leave too,” he says quietly.
Elena kneels. “I won’t.”
“You all say that.”
Isabella steps forward. “Hi. I’m Isabella. Want to play?”
Oliver hesitates, then gives a small smile.
Mrs. Porter interrupts. “Elena, Mr. Harrington wants to see you.”
In the office, Jonathan Harrington, thirty-six, well-dressed but deeply tired, speaks plainly.
“My son has leukemia. Advanced. The doctors say he has about a month.”
Elena’s eyes fill with tears.
“Many caregivers couldn’t handle it,” he continues. “Can you?”
“I can,” she says without hesitation.
“Why bring your daughter?”
“I don’t have anyone else.”
Jonathan studies her, then nods. “If there’s a problem, you’ll have to leave.”
“I understand.”
Upstairs, Elena finds Isabella showing Oliver her teddy bear.
“He keeps me safe,” Isabella says. “You can hold him.”
Oliver cradles it carefully. “He’s warm.”
“That’s because he’s full of love.”