"What’s that?!" Angel asked, her voice a mix of excitement and curiosity as her eyes locked onto the bulge in Lucas’s bag.

Lucas pulled it out slowly, revealing a carefully wrapped gift. Inside was the dollhouse she’d always dreamed of but never got. Their parents had never been able to buy it for her, and he hadn’t even have any spare money to buy for it either—not until now. After months of saving every spare money, he finally made it happen.

"Here," Lucas said softly, handing it over.

Angel’s eyes went wide, sparkling with pure joy. It was the kind of happiness that hit Lucas square in the chest. "It’s for you," he added, gently ruffling her hair like she was his little puppy.

"Whoa, are you rich now?" she teased, her grin stretching ear to ear as she tore into the wrapping.

Lucas chuckled, leaning back to watch her. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, soaking in every second. She was radiant—like nothing in the world could hurt her right now. For him, it was everything. "Just chill," he said, laughing nervously, though his voice cracked under the weight of the moment.

When she caught her first glimpse of what was inside, she froze. Her smile softened as she looked up at Lucas, her eyes brimming with something deeper than happiness—gratitude, maybe. She didn’t say anything at first, just beamed at him as she unwrapped the rest.

A dollhouse. The dollhouse.

"This is so… cool," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as her hands hovered over it like it might disappear. Her wide eyes stayed glued to the tiny details, every little piece pulling her in. Then she spotted something else.

"Oh! There’s a letter and a painting too!" she squealed, clutching them to her chest before hugging the dollhouse like it was the most precious thing in the world.

Lucas just watched her, his chest tightening. He couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. It was enough just seeing her like this, so alive, so happy.

But the moment was cut short by a knock at the door.

Knock.

Knock.

Creak.

The door creaked open, and Angel’s doctor stepped in. “Mr. Giotto, could I speak with you for a moment?” he asked, his voice calm but heavy.

Lucas glanced back at his sister, her small hands carefully setting up the dollhouse. She was grinning, lost in her new world. “I’ll be right back, okay?” he said, playfully tapping her nose.

“Yup!” she chirped, not even looking up, too busy arranging the tiny furniture.

Creak.

The door shut softly behind him, and Lucas found himself face to face with the doctor in the quiet hallway. The man held a thick folder in one hand, its weight seeming more than just paper.

“Doctor,” Lucas said, reaching out to clasp his hand, gratitude spilling from him. His voice cracked slightly as he bowed his head. “Thank you—for everything. She’s smiling again because of you.”

The doctor’s lips curved into a faint, polite smile, but his hands found Lucas’s shoulders, gripping them firmly. It wasn’t the kind of touch that reassured—it carried something heavier. Lucas felt the shift immediately, a sinking dread curling in his gut.

“Mr. Giotto,” the doctor began, his tone measured but with an edge of regret, “I’m glad you got to share that moment with her. Truly. But there’s something I need to tell you.”

The words froze Lucas where he stood, his pulse thundering in his ears. He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think—only feel the cold grip of fear clawing at him.

“What you’re seeing,” the doctor continued gently, “is what we call a ‘final surge’ or ‘terminal lucidity.’ It’s a rare phenomenon that can happen near the end of life. Patients sometimes have a brief period where they seem… better. More energetic, more themselves.”

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Lucas blinked, the air knocked out of him. “But…” His voice faltered.

The doctor’s grip tightened slightly. “It doesn’t mean they’re recovering. It’s often a sign that the end is near.”

When the doctor said that, lucas felt like it was betraying his ownself, smiling through it all as he saw his sister playing happily in the door window. His sister waved happily as she saw him outside too. He can't help but smile though as the doctor grab his back and tapped it as he was showing support to him.

“But a final surge isn’t always definitive,” the doctor added, trying to soften the blow. His voice carried a thin thread of hope, though Lucas could sense it was more for his sake than anything else.

Lucas nodded faintly, but the words didn’t make it easier. He already knew. He’d seen it all—the agony in his sister’s face, the screams of pain that tore through the walls of her hospital room, and the tears she’d long since run out of. He couldn’t imagine the depth of her suffering, but he’d witnessed enough to know. And as much as the thought of losing her tore him apart, a small part of him—one he hated to admit even existed—knew that maybe it would be better. Better for her to leave this pain behind and finally, finally smile without the weight of it crushing her.

He bowed to the doctor again, murmuring a soft “thank you” before turning back to the room.

This time, he entered with a smile, his arms open to hug his sister as tightly as he dared. He didn’t let go for what felt like hours, filling every second with her laughter and words until there was no room for anything else.

“Can I take her outside?” Lucas asked, his voice steady but hopeful.

The doctor hesitated, thinking it over. “Of course,” he said finally, nodding.

A while later, Lucas pushed Angel’s wheelchair outside, the golden orange of the evening sky painting the world around them. The crisp air carried a calmness that felt almost surreal.

“Brother! I love it out here!” Angel’s voice rang out, fragile but filled with joy.

Lucas chuckled, the sound soft but genuine. “Yeah,” he said, ruffling her hair. “Me too.”

They wandered for hours, soaking in every moment. Angel laughed at silly shapes in the clouds, her eyes wide as Lucas pointed out birds gliding across the horizon. Every push of the wheelchair felt light to him, like carrying the weight of her happiness made the effort nothing at all.

Eventually, they stopped by a small stall that promised to send wishes out to sea. Lucas handed her a piece of paper and a pen. “Okay, what’s your wish?” he asked, crouching to her level.

Angel tilted her head, thinking hard. “Hmm… maybe to hug you!” she said with a grin.

Lucas smiled. “That’s it? Easy wish then!”

But before he could say more, she added, “And to hug Mom and Dad. Together.”

Lucas froze. His heart twisted painfully in his chest. Fuck. That wave of emotions hit him again, the one he could never quite outrun.

Angel looked up at him, still smiling, her eyes bright and expectant. “What about you, brother? What’s your wish?”

Lucas stared at the paper for a moment, his pen hovering over it. Then, with a small, shaky breath, he wrote something down, folded it carefully, and dropped it into the bowl where the wishes would be sent off.

“Nothing big,” he said, smiling at her. “I just wish for you to be happy.”

But it wasn’t the whole truth. His wish was the same as hers—to be together again. To have his family back, whole and smiling, just like it used to be. Even if only in this fleeting moment.

When they got back, the sky had already swallowed the light. The darkness crept in, a reminder of the time he couldn’t hold on to. Lucas wanted to fight it, keep it at bay, to stay outside with her just a little longer. But the night had already arrived.

And that night, in her room.

She had already left him, her big brother.

image [https://clipart-library.com/images_k/text-divider-transparent/text-divider-transparent-19.png]

Months passed.

Lucas kept going through the motions—working for a couple of days after his sister died, but it all felt like nothing. His heart wasn't in it anymore. He tried to end it all. Tried to throw himself away, but something—fear, maybe—kept him alive. It wasn’t a choice anymore, just a force keeping him here. But it sure didn’t feel like he belonged. Not anymore. He drank like his father, became numb to everything. The house grew into a filthy tomb of discarded bottles and empty walls. He never left. Never worked. Just rotted away in that prison he’d built for himself.

Robb tried, knocking on his door, calling him—but Lucas couldn’t even bring himself to answer. He was buried under grief. Under everything he’d lost.

His house was a wreck, a crumbling reminder of the man he used to be. Cobwebs lined the roof, dust caked every surface. Then, when it seemed like he was finally ready to give up, the phone rang.

It was from the hospital where she’d died.

"Mr. Giotto?" The voice on the other end asked.

Lucas didn’t speak, just took a long swig from the bottle in his hand. “Heh,” he muttered under his breath.

“It’s about your sister,” the voice continued.

The words hit him like a punch. He hadn’t heard those words in months. But, without thinking, he snapped back, his voice serious. “What is it?”

image [https://clipart-library.com/images_k/text-divider-transparent/text-divider-transparent-19.png]

When Lucas went to the hospital, he wasn’t prepared for what the nurse handed him: a stack of letters his sister had written. They were hidden under her bed, waiting for him to find them.

He barely made it through the first letter before his eyes blurred with tears. His sister had written about fighting to survive, about wanting to live, no matter how much it hurt. The words cut him deep, made him feel smaller than he ever had. She had endured it all, but now, it was him—he was the one ready to give up.

"Damn." His voice cracked as he clutched the letters to his chest. He stuffed them into the shelf, trying to ignore the burning ache in his chest.

But something shifted.

The letters—her words—lit a fire inside him.

Hope. That’s what they gave him. A reason to try again. A reason to keep living, to pick up the pieces and start over.

image [https://clipart-library.com/images_k/text-divider-transparent/text-divider-transparent-19.png]

He threw himself into working out, cleaning like a madman, trying to turn his life around. Everything was a blur of sweat, effort, and motion. He started searching for a new job, pulling himself out of the pit he’d fallen into.

The path ahead was finally clear. It was for his sister—for her dreams that he’d promised to carry on.

To live.

But then, the fever hit. "A fever now, huh?" he muttered, feeling his body heat rise.

He stayed in, trying to ride it out, treating himself the best he could. But when it only got worse, he knew he had to get help.

The doctor didn’t mince words. "You have it. The Virex-9."

It was already too late. The virus had taken root, spreading fast, tearing through his nervous system. He could feel it all—his body slipping away. And soon, he was back in the same hospital his sister had passed away in, hooked up to machines, his body failing him just like hers.

He fell into a coma.

The sound of machines beeping and whirring faded away as his world went dark.

Cringggggg.

image [https://i.pinimg.com/originals/9c/f8/72/9cf872b3dcc7727d18b41aafa03a61d6.gif]

"What are you?" Lucas whispered in his mind. Everything felt like a twisted dream, or maybe a nightmare.

"I’m you," the voice said.

"Why are you here?" Lucas asked, confusion thick in his voice.

"I’m here to help you move forward."

Suddenly, an orb of darkness swallowed him whole, pulling him deeper into the void.

And then, everything stopped.

When Lucas opened his eyes again, everything felt… different. His hands were tiny, too small, and he realized with a shock where he was.

A crib.

A damn baby crib.