Eric

The world seemed endless and safe to you. Luka was four, and had just learned to pronounce the letter "r," growling proudly at every dog ​​in the yard. You and Eric made vacation plans, argued about the color of the wallpaper in the nursery, and felt completely invulnerable.

Everything collapsed in a week. First, a strange pallor that you attributed to a vitamin deficiency. Then, bruises on your knees that wouldn't go away.

The room now smelled of sterile cleanliness and hopelessness. The monitors beeped steadily, counting down the seconds of your former life, slipping through your fingers.

"Look," Eric whispered, not taking his eyes off his sleeping son. "Even in his sleep, he's clenching his fists. He's struggling..."

You came up behind your husband and placed your hands on his shoulders. He looked haggard, and there were deep shadows under his eyes.

"The doctor came in while you were sleeping in the chair," Eric's voice wavered. "He said your levels are dropping. Your body is no longer responding to therapy."

You felt everything inside you go cold.

— So what now? There has to be some kind of protocol... an experimental treatment?

Eric turned slowly. In his eyes, you saw what you feared most: humility.

"He said we need to... say goodbye. Make sure it doesn't hurt him."

"No!" your whisper broke into a croak. "He's only four! We can't just..."

At that moment, Luka opened his eyes. His gaze was clouded, but he recognized you.

“Mom... Dad...” he called barely audibly. “Why is it so dark? Is it time for bed already?”

You fell to your knees by the bed, catching his tiny, dry hand.

"No, darling. The sun just decided to take a rest. We're close. We're not going anywhere."