On these words, the child's face, so much like Jason's, flicker between his father and me. There's a spark of hope there, mixed with the weariness of long illness. I feel a lump forming in my throat, torn between the urge to gather the fragile boy in my arms and the need to maintain my professional facade.
"That's right," I say softly, squeezing the child's hand. "We're going to work together to make you strong again. Can you be my brave helper?"
A ghost of a smile touches the boy's lips, and he nods weakly.
"I'll try, Doctor," he then replies.
I begin my examination, all too aware of Jason's intense gaze following my every move.
"This child could indeed be my son Eden", I then tell myself with a jolt, "although he is painfully thin, his skin pale and slightly yellowed."
