Mia's POV
Hugo and I walk a few steps away. Far enough the children can't hear. Close enough I can still see them.
"I apologize," he begins. "The story was inappropriate."
"You were trying to help."
"I was trying to practice medicine without consent. There's a difference." He pauses. "But as a physician, I have an obligation to provide accurate medical information. Even when it's uncomfortable."
"Hugo—"
"Please. Let me say this." He looks at me directly. His eyes serious. "Bone marrow donation from a child is not without risk. Anesthesia. Pain. Small chance of complications. I won't minimize that."
"I know."
"But." He holds up a hand. "The risks are manageable. The pain is temporary. The marrow regenerates completely. Within weeks, the child is physically exactly as they were."
"Physically," I repeat. Catching it.
"Yes. Physically they recover. Emotionally is more complex. Some children process it positively. They helped someone they love. They were brave. They made a difference." He pauses. "Other children struggle. They remember the hospital. The fear. They associate their parent's illness with their own pain."
A car pulls in nearby. Parks. A family gets out. Two kids. Both older. Maybe ten and twelve.
We wait until they're inside.
"But here's what I know for certain," Hugo continues. His voice is lower now. More intense. "The loss of a parent creates a wound that never fully heals. It shapes everything. How they see the world. How they trust. How they love."
He's quiet for a moment.
"I lost my father when I was seven," he says. "Heart attack. Sudden. One day he was there. The next he wasn't."
I didn't know this.
"Hugo, I'm so—"
"It was a long time ago. But I remember it. The emptiness. The confusion. How my mother tried to fill the space and couldn't. Because the space was father-shaped. Only a father fits there."
From the car, Alexander's voice: "CAN WE GO NOW?"
My mother: "In a minute, sweetie."
Alexander: "That's what adults say when they mean ten minutes."


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