CHAPTER 2: THE BOY WITH NO HOME
The silence in the hospital room felt heavier than the alarms had.
The father looked at the dirty boy, unable to find words.
Just minutes earlier, he had treated him like a threat.
Now his daughter was alive because of him.
"What’s your name?" the doctor finally asked.
The boy lowered his eyes.
"Ethan."
"Where are your parents, Ethan?"
The question made his shoulders stiffen.
"I don't have any."
The room grew quiet again.
Ethan explained that his mother had died two years earlier. After that, he and his younger sister had lived in shelters, abandoned buildings, and wherever they could find warmth.
Then six months ago, his sister became sick.
Very sick.
He remembered sitting beside her hospital bed.
He remembered doctors rushing.
He remembered alarms sounding.
And he remembered the oxygen tube slipping loose.
Nobody saw it.
Nobody noticed.
By the time someone did, it was too late.
"My sister was seven," Ethan whispered.
The nurse wiped tears from her eyes.
The girl's father felt something break inside his chest.
He looked at his daughter sleeping peacefully.
Then at the boy who had lost everything.
"Where did you sleep last night?" he asked quietly.
Ethan hesitated.
"The bus station."
The answer hit harder than anyone expected.
A child.
Alone.
Sleeping at a bus station.
The father slowly knelt in front of him.
"My name is Daniel."
Ethan nodded.
Daniel swallowed hard.
"Thank you for saving my daughter."
For the first time since entering the room, Ethan allowed himself to cry.
May you like
Not because he was sad.
But because someone had finally said thank you.
