A long silence.
“Only twice a week,” Nina admitted. “He was lonely. He was happy there.”
The kindergarten was in Eastwood, a poor neighborhood Michael had never set foot in.
That night, Michael didn’t leave the hospital. Near midnight, he woke to a whisper.
Lily was back.
She wasn’t pouring water this time—just holding Ethan’s hand, murmuring softly.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Michael said weakly.
“He needs me,” she replied.
She pointed at Ethan’s face.
Michael looked—and his heart tightened. Ethan looked… slightly less gray.
“What kind of water is that?” Michael asked.
“From the courtyard fountain,” Lily said. “My grandma says there used to be a well there. Sick people came for it.”
“That’s just a story,” Michael muttered.
Lily tilted her head.
“You believe doctors, right?”
“Yes.”
“They said they can’t help anymore. So why not believe the water too?”
Michael had no answer.
A nurse, Emma, entered and paused when she saw Lily.
“Mr. Bennett,” she said quietly, “I shouldn’t say this, but… after the girl came earlier, Ethan’s oxygen levels improved slightly. Very little—but it stabilized.”
A dangerous spark lit inside Michael.