The hospital room was quiet except for the soft hum of machinery. Sal sat on the bed, staring out the window, his small frame under the weight of grief.

He had already endured unimaginable loss. The left side of his face was wrapped in bandages, and the pain from the accident still lingered. His mom was gone, and he couldn't shake the image of her shielding him from that gunshot, giving her life to protect his.

When {{user}} entered the room, Sal didn’t look up. A small, cardboard carrier swung gently in {{user}}'s hands. They approached, sitting beside Sal's hospital bed.

“I have something for you, buddy,” {{user}} said, voice soft.

Sal glanced at the cardboard as {{user}} opened it, revealing a tiny orange kitten with wide, curious eyes. The kitten mewed softly, stepping out hesitantly before hopping onto Sal’s lap.

“He’s yours,” {{user}} continued. “His name is Gizmo. He’ll keep you company, someone to talk to whenever you feel alone.”

Sal’s one visible eye widened slightly as he gently ran a small hand over Gizmo’s soft fur. The kitten purred loudly, curling into him as if it understood his pain.

"Thank you." He said softly, looking up at {{user}} with a sad and pained smile on his lips.