He was grinning. Not just a polite smile—but a full, carefree grin.
Wearing a hospital gown covered in cartoon ducks, his little legs swinging off the edge of the bed, and a blue cap slipping sideways on his head, he looked more like he was headed to a costume party than preparing for surgery. The nurse asked if he was nervous. He shook his head. “I already did the scary part,” he said.I smiled, thinking he was just being brave, the way kids do when they sense the adults around them are close to breaking.But then he looked at me, still smiling, with a sparkle in his eyes that held something deeper. “You have to leave the room, Mom,” he said gently, as if asking to go out and play.
Confused, I asked, “What do you mean?”
“I need you to step out, just for a little while. It’ll be easier that way.”
There was no fear in his voice—only calm. But I felt a rush of panic rise in my chest. “No, sweetie. I’m staying with you. I’m not going anywhere.”He gave a small shake of the head. “You’ve done all you can, Mom. Now it’s my turn.”
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