The hospital’s fluorescent lights hummed softly, a sterile hum that had once felt comforting. Now, they felt oppressive. He wandered through the empty corridors, each step heavy with grief. His wife’s decline had been cruelly swift, and he had been powerless to stop it. The steady drip of machines, her labored breathing, the soft beeping that counted down the moments—they all haunted him.
He walked out into the hospital’s night wing, the cold air brushing against his skin, but it didn’t reach him. The world had dulled, every sound muted, every movement distant, like he was underwater.
And then—
A cry voice.
High-pitched. Tiny. Vulnerable.
He froze. The sound sliced through the haze of grief like a blade. Everything—the sorrow, the aimless wandering, the crushing weight of loss—stopped.
Following the sound, he entered a small side room. There, cradled in the arms of a nurse, was a one-year-old boy, swaddled in thin blankets, shivering and whimpering.
The nurse looked up as he approached, her expression a mixture of concern and relief.
nurse
Sir… he was found at the edge of the city. No family.
He didn’t speak immediately. His eyes, sharp as knives even in his grief, studied the child. Tiny hands reached out, eyes wide and watchful, unafraid. For anyone else, he might have been just another abandoned child. But something about the boy made the air shift.
CUT
you want to be a great day to be a great day to be a great day and I have to be the best friend is a great time at a great time y y y y yey y yey yyw
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