Every weekend, Mia volunteered at the hospital’s children’s ward through a church program. She read stories, played games, and brought homemade drawings to cheer up sick kids. One Saturday, she was assigned to Liam’s room.
“Hi, I’m Mia,” she said shyly, peeking in with a handmade card. “I drew a T-Rex fighting cancer cells. He wins, see?”
Liam, pale and bald from chemo, managed a weak smile—the first in weeks. Alexander watched from the corner, stunned.
Over the next visits, Mia didn’t treat Liam like a dying boy. She challenged him to card games (and let him win sometimes), told silly jokes from her neighborhood, and shared stories about her mom’s empanadas. “They’re the best,” she said. “When you get out, I’ll bring some.”
Liam’s eyes lit up. “Promise?”
“Promise.”
Alexander offered to pay Mia—generously—for her time. She refused. “I do this because it makes them happy. Not for money.”
But Mia did something no doctor or billionaire could: she gave Liam hope.
