The hospital room was cold, much colder than usual. Dazzling white lights glowed against the pale gray walls. The machines in the corner of the room made ear-piercing rhythmic sounds, as if to remind us how fragile life is.
I was standing at Cressa's bedside, clasping her tiny, pale fingers. My daughter lies with an IV drip in her arm. Today was a very important blood transfusion process for her condition, and I promised to be by her side from the start.
“Mom... it hurts,” Cressa's small voice trembled. Her big glassy eyes looked up at me, trying to look strong. Her body twitched for a moment as the syringe began to work. I couldn't bear to watch this process but I had to be strong for Cressa's sake.
I stroked her thin, silky hair, trying to hold back the tears that were already welling
