Inside the renowned and authoritative children's hospital in San Francisco, Voilet gently stroked the head of a little boy who had just returned from chemotherapy, her eyes brimming with heartache.
"Aunt Voilet," the boy murmured weakly, forcing a frail smile despite his pale lips.
"It's okay.
It doesn't hurt at all."
His tiny face, no bigger than a palm, was etched with reassurance.
The agony of chemotherapy was unbearable even for adults.
Yet here he was, trying to comfort *her*.
A pang of sorrow tightened Voilet's chest, and her vision blurred with unshed tears.
"Yes,
Ace is the bravest, most wonderful little angel," she whispered, her voice tender as she caressed his cheek.
"Once you're better, Auntie and your mom will take you to Disneyland, to Journey to the West Park, to Fantawild—any amusement park you want to visit."
Journey to the West Park?
Disneyland?
