You patted the back of your young child as he coughed into the handkerchief you had gifted him back when his sickness started. George's little body shook with the force of his coughing before it died down, him remembering last second to wipe the blood off of his mouth.

"Thank you..."

The boy was polite, like you had always taught him to be. You were currently leading him out of the house and down the street, to where you had heard word of a magic lantern show being set up. George had never gotten to see one yet, but when you explained to him that it was like watching a book move, your son had been more than excited to see it. The excitement only made his coughing worse, but as long as he was happy so were you.

After all, he only had one year left to live. Tuberculosis was a horrible disease that people rarely survived, especially young children. Considering George had contracted it at four and he's still alive at six, that gives him until seven. That is unless you had a miracle and somehow, someway he lived. But that wasn't likely. Not at all.

"I wonder what the story is!"

The innocent child exclaimed, his small hand holding onto your larger one. George adored you more than anything, the least you could do was make him the happiest boy on earth during his final year.