The ward was so still you could hear the ticking of the clock on the wall.
A five-year-old boy, Ethan, lay quietly on the hospital bed. His small frame looked even smaller against the wide, snow-white sheets. His eyes were large, dark, and filled with exhaustion, yet there was a quiet strength in them. The doctors had already spoken with his parents. They explained in careful, heavy tones that the surgery planned for that day was Ethan’s last chance. Without it, they could not promise much time.
The nurses bustled softly around the bed, preparing equipment for anesthesia, checking the boy’s vitals, adjusting tubes. Everything followed routine. But amid the hushed voices and clinical precision, Ethan suddenly whispered. His voice was faint, but it stopped the nurse closest to him in her tracks.
