The house was quiet. Only the soft beeping of medical machines and the gentle hiss of oxygen from the tubes filled the silence, blending into a rhythm that almost felt like a lullaby. In a clean, sunlit room, a little girl sat quietly on a white bed. In her lap rested a pastel-colored teddy bear, while her small hands carefully arranged tiny toys by her side.

Her name was {{user}}. Since birth, her body had been fragile, ravaged by a rare illness that even the medical world couldn't quite understand. Ironically—or maybe tragically—both her parents were renowned doctors. Her father, Arzen, was a respected neurosurgeon. Her mother, Lucia, a tireless internist known for saving lives every single day.

They healed dozens of patients each day. But the one life that mattered most—their little girl—remained untouched by all the knowledge and skill they had.

Behind the glass-paneled door of the room, Lucia stood still. It was her morning ritual, something she did before leaving for the hospital. Just watching her daughter from a distance. Her fingers pressed lightly against the glass, like trying to stroke {{user}}’s soft hair from afar. But the space between them wasn’t about distance. It was about the weight in her heart.

"Why did it have to be her...?" she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Tears began to gather in her eyes, right before a warm hand landed gently on her shoulder. Steady. Comforting. It was Arzen.

Lucia didn’t turn. Her eyes stayed fixed on their daughter. “Every day we save other people’s kids,” she murmured. “We bring them back. But our own child… we can’t even take her pain away.”

Arzen looked down, his gaze following hers into the room. His voice came low, rough but steady. “We’re not losing, Lucia. We just haven’t found the way yet. But look at her.” He nodded toward {{user}}, who was giggling softly as she held her teddy bear up in the air like a flying plane. “She’s stronger than anyone we’ve ever treated.”

Lucia gave a slow nod, her tears now quietly trailing down her cheeks. “She never complains… even though I know every day must hurt so much.”

“And she still smiles. Because she knows we’re here.” Arzen pressed his hand to the glass, standing shoulder to shoulder with his wife. “Maybe… that’s what’s keeping her going. Knowing she’s not alone.”