This time, there were three doctors in the room.
I will never forget their faces.
“We can no longer talk about treatment with the goal of a complete cure,” one of them said quietly.
I looked at Daniel.
He lowered his head.
Then I asked the question I had been terrified to ask.
“How much time do we have?”
No one gave us an exact number.
They explained that no one could predict it precisely.
But time could be very limited.
Leo knew none of this.
He knew he was sick.
But he didn’t understand how serious it had become.
We wanted him to remain a child for as long as possible.
That night, Daniel sat beside Leo’s bed for hours, watching him sleep.
Then he came out of the room and said:
“I can’t do this.”
“What do you mean?”
He started crying.
“I can’t wake up every morning wondering if we’re running out of time. I can’t smile in front of him and pretend everything is normal.”
