………….

I’d gone into that room so many times the woollen pile showed the path of my steps.

That day began like any other. I entered, crossed to the heavy curtains, drew them open, and waited for my eyes to adjust to the sudden stream of light stretching across the room.

On the bed lay the frail figure, propped by pillows. His mother always came before me, she fed him, bathed him, but never opened the curtains. He rarely spoke, except when I drew the light. Then, without fail, he whispered, “Thank you for the light.”

I pulled back the covers and began the ritual, moving his limbs, carrying out the physician’s prescribed exercises. It took an hour. I filled the silence with chatter, sensing I was his one thin tether to the world beyond these four walls.

I never knew what truly ailed him. To me, he looked like a boy who simply needed to put his feet on the ground, feel the grass beneath him, the sun on his face, the rose garden in the air, the afternoon breeze across his skin.

When I finished, I tucked the sheets around him. As I rose, his hand shot out, gripping my wrist with a strength that startled me.

“Please don’t leave me here. I hate it, I hate them, I hate this life.”

He turned his head so I wouldn’t see his tears. I had never seen him cry.

I froze, uncertain. Then came that strained, desperate word, “Please.”

My heart broke. I wanted to stay, but I knew she would return soon. I set my hand on his shoulder, my voice unsteady.

“Let me see what I can do to help.”

“Promise.”

“Yes… yes, I promise.”

I closed the curtains, hurried from the room, and leaned against the door outside, trembling. What had I just done? How could I make such a promise, and why did I already know I had to keep it?…